Restrictor Plate
by sarahkwUT
Summary: Damon is a NASCAR driver with a troubled past and present. Elena is the former love of his life. Both find themselves back in Mystic Falls and employed by Salvatore Racing. With a mountain of baggage between them, including a carefully guarded secret, it's only a matter of time before they have the "Big One." AU/AH; Damon; Elena
1. This Is My Hometown

_**Restrictor Plate: A device installed at the intake of an engine to limit its power; limits top speed and increases safety**_

**Here we go. My second AU/AH Damon/Elena story. For those of you who read _Settle Down, _this one will be a bit more - dramatic? I've been writing away and there is quite the story taking shape. **

**My first job out of college, I worked for in social media for a major U.S. retailer which also sponsors a NASCAR team. I did the social media for the team, which taught me a TON about the inner workings of a NASCAR operation. While I personally think the sport is a bit boring, it is pretty exciting all the same, especially when the "start your engines" command is given. So, while I'll take creative liberties, I do have some background in NASCAR. :) **

**And so... Restrictor Plate. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

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><p>The sun hung low on the horizon, the sky a soft pink as she passed the faded sign welcoming her to Mystic Falls. A wave of anxiety washed over her as she entered the town, but a quick glance in her review mirror calmed her, if only momentarily. She blew out a breath as she slowed to the reduced speed limit, her eyes taking in the once familiar scenery. There was probably something poetic about how everything had changed and yet, still looked the same, still familiar, but she would have to think on that later, when her mind wasn't so full of other things.<p>

She wasn't sure she was making the right decision, coming back here. But life had a way of slamming a door to open a window, at least in her case. Just out of college, her life falling apart around her, her father had taken a job at a hospital in San Bernardino and she had jumped at the chance to move to the opposite coast. Now, more than three years later, with her parents retiring to a small coastal town in South Carolina, an opportunity to return home had presented itself and, eventually, she had taken it, trusting the feeling down deep in her gut that this is what she needed to do.

In what seemed like mere minutes, she was turning onto the street she had grown up on. Some of her best and worst memories had taken place on these sidewalks and they flashed before her in rapid succession as she approached the big white house near the end of the row. She was playing with fire as she turned into the drive, knowing her carefully guarded secrets would become public knowledge sooner rather than later. It would be a relief, maybe, to get everything out in the open.

She pulled to a stop and shut off the engine. The house could use a fresh coat of paint and come spring, she would have her work cut out for her on the landscaping front, but it was home, now as much as it was back then. She was taking in the faded brass numbers on the porch post when the front door opened. She sucked in a gasp and smiled as a pretty, petite woman, her dark hair stringed with strands of gray, her skin just starting to show signs of aging although she was well into middle age, appeared on the doorstep. Elena pushed open her door and climbed from her car.

"Ginny," she breathed. The woman gave her a smile that fell somewhere between happiness and sorrow.

"Elena," she replied, holding her arms open. "Come here, my girl." Elena didn't hesitate. Ginny wrapped her in a tight hug. Even more than the house before her, she felt at home in the arms of the woman who had been like a second mother to her. It took several long moments for her to pull away and even when she did, Ginny held her at arm's length, studying her.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Elena told her, conscious of Ginny's critical eye. "I'm thrilled, but I thought I would see you in the morning. I knew there was no way you would stay away longer than that."

"Someone had to make sure the house was up to standards," Ginny said with a slight shake of her head as though asking Elena where else would she be at that very moment. "Your renters have been gone a month. They took good care of the home, but a fine coat of dust had settled between their departure and your arrival." Elena shook her head fondly, the smallest of smiles on her lips.

"You didn't have to clean," she said.

"But I did," Ginny said dismissively. She looked past Elena then. "Is she…?" Elena glanced over her shoulder, then back at Ginny. She nodded.

"She's asleep," she said. "We left Memphis before dawn, drove all day. She's been asleep since we drove into Lynchburg."

"A nice little cat nap, then," Ginny said with approval, calculating that it had taken Elena about an hour to drive from Lynchburg to Mystic Falls. "May I?" she inclined her head towards the door of the SUV's backseat.

"Of course," Elena said. It was only then that Ginny let her go. Almost tentatively, she opened car door. Her hand flew to her chest as she took in the small toddler sleeping soundly in her car seat.

"Sweet girl," Ginny muttered. She let out a sad sigh. "She really does look just like him, doesn't she?" Elena nodded.

"She does," she agreed. "She got his stubbornness too. The temper tantrum she threw at the last gas station we stopped at because I wouldn't buy her two lollipops instead of the one she didn't need in the first place was impressive." Ginny didn't reply, staring at her granddaughter for several more moments, quietly thanking God that she – and Elena – were back in Mystic Falls, right where they belonged. Finally, she turned back to Elena.

"Thank you, for coming home," she told her. She reached out and squeezed Elena's hand. Elena nodded once.

"The jury is out on whether it was the right thing to do," she said. "But, here we are."

"Here you are," Ginny repeated, glancing once more at the toddler.

"He's going to find out," Elena said, putting into words what they were both thinking. Ginny nodded.

"Eventually," she agreed. "Giuseppe and I, Stefan, Caroline, we are on your side."

"There aren't sides to talk," Elena said gently but pointedly.

"But there is," Ginny replied in a similar tone, leaving no room for argument.

"How is he?" Elena asked. She had a good idea, based on what she read and what the Salvatore family told her, but she wanted to hear it from the person she knew would be the most direct. Ginny sighed.

"He's a wreck," she said bluntly. "Giuseppe is taking a huge risk, giving him a ride this season. How he found sponsorship is beyond me, must have called in every favor he had owed to him. But, Giuseppe seems to think this is the right thing to do. If I had my way, he wouldn't be in a car at all, not after what happened at Talladega. I said my peace about it all, now I have to see how the pieces fall. But, I've said it before and I'll say it again. I suspect I will put my oldest son in the grave before I bury my husband if he keeps up the way he's going."

"I don't know what happened to him," Elena said, sadness thick in her voice.

"I do," Ginny said bluntly. "He lost his damn mind." Elena couldn't help but grin. She had missed Ginny's bluntness, her no-nonsense Southern mannerisms, so different from those of her strong, Italian husband.

"I'll agree to that," she said, stifling a yawn. Ginny didn't miss a beat.

"You said you left Memphis before sunrise?" Elena nodded. "That's a 12 hour drive, not counting stops. There's a warm casserole in the oven and a few groceries in the pantry to get you through until you can get to the grocery store. You get that baby out of her seat and into the house. You've been driving for days. Get yourselves something warm to eat and then get some rest. Of course, I don't think much of the two of you sleeping on an air mattress."

"My furniture will be here in a few days," Elena answered. "We'll be fine until then."

"Our offer still stands," Ginny replied. "We have a number of spare bedrooms."

"Caroline and Stefan's offer still stands as well," Elena said, again pointedly but politely. She appreciated their willingness to open their homes to her and her daughter until the moving truck arrived from California, but she wanted to do things on her own terms now that she was back. That included sleeping in her own home from night one. "Thank you, Ginny. You and Giuseppe have already done so much."

"You, that little girl, you're family," Ginny said. "I love my son, but frankly, I like you a hell of a lot more than I like him these days." Elena laughed. The backseat, the toddler stirred.

"Mama?" she said sleepily.

"Hi, baby girl," Elena said, turning to her daughter. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"We're home."

* * *

><p>Ginny used her hip to push open the door to her husband's study, just like she did at the same time nearly every evening, with a tray in her hands. Giuseppe was bent over his desk, studying a diagram of a car.<p>

"Just in time," he said as Ginny entered. He sat back in his chair and smiled adoringly at his wife.

"At eight o'clock, just like always," Ginny replied. She sat the tray down on Giuseppe's desk.

"You are too good to me, Tesoro," he told her. He picked up one of the cookies on his tray and dunked it into a steaming mug of coffee. "She's here?"

"She's here," Ginny confirmed. She settled into her usual arm chair. "She drove straight through from Memphis. Can you believe that? Twelve hours with that baby. I told her to eat some dinner and then go straight to bed. She was exhausted from all that driving. She should have never driven across the country in the first place. Not by herself, with that little girl."

"You made sure she had a few groceries, yes?" Giuseppe asked patiently, well-versed on his wife's feelings about Elena opting to drive from coast-to-coast, despite their offer of sending their private jet to fetch her. He sipped his coffee.

"Of course," Ginny said dismissively. She sipped from her own mug of coffee. "I wish she would just stay here until her things arrive. Those two, sleeping on an air mattress. That's just plain silly."

"We have to let her do this on her own terms, just like she asked," Giuseppe reminded his wife. "We got her here, Tesoro. Let's give her some space to find her feet." Ginny sighed heavily.

"Are we doing the right thing?" she asked. The worry was clear in her voice. Giuseppe nodded with an air of confidence.

"She's Damon's last hope," he said. "If anyone can save him from himself, it will be her."

"I know you are a hopeless romantic, but Giuseppe, darling, don't you remember how they left things? Damon doesn't have a clue about Molly and we both know he is in no position to be a father."

"I remember well how they left things," Giuseppe confirmed. "And I still believe that keeping Molly from him has been for the best. He certainly hasn't been the best influence in recent years. But you remember them, Tesoro. Damon thought Elena hung the moon. He loved her almost as much as I love you." Ginny smiled affectionately at her husband.

"They did love one another," she agreed. "But, Elena has been a single mother for the better part of three years. Damon… Well, Damon has spent three years making one bad decision after another. They are different people now. Very different."

"Elena is here," Giuseppe said simply. "Damon is here. We've done our part. Now, we let it play out as it may." Ginny pondered the mug in her hands thoughtfully for a few minutes.

"He's going to be angry when he finds out we kept Molly from him," she said.

"As he should be," Giuseppe replied as though he wasn't concerned about his eldest son's fiery temper. "It will get much worse, before it gets better. But, at some point, Damon will have to stop and think about why we kept Molly from him. He won't be able to deny that we, Elena included, did what was best for that little girl."

"What if it sends him running off again?" Ginny asked. The heartbreak in her voice caused her husband to feel a pang of pain of his own.

"He won't go anywhere," he assured her, his voice portraying the confidence he lacked deep down. "He loves to race. Racing is as essential to him as breathing. I'm the only one who will give him a ride. He won't take off again." Ginny shook her head, but didn't say anything. Giuseppe had a master plan and she trusted him completely. Still, she had her doubts.

"I'm going to finish tidying up the kitchen, and then go upstairs for the night," she said, standing, her now empty coffee mug in her hand. "Don't stay up too late."

"Everything will be fine, Tesoro," Giuseppe said in a soothing tone.

"I hope so," Ginny replied. Giuseppe took another sip of his coffee. He eyed his wife.

"Are you sure this isn't decaf?" Ginny made a face and scoffed.

"Of course not!"

She waited until she turned and walked away to smirk.

* * *

><p><strong>Restrictor plates are used at Daytona and Talladega to keep speeds down, thereby making the race safer overall. Without one, cars reach speeds of more than 200mph. Both tracks are notorious for big, scary crashes. Talladega, however, is known for the "Big One." "Restrictor Plate" is the perfect title for this story which ultimately has nothing to do with racing. And Talladega is pretty important too.<br>**

**Damon as a NASCAR driver. What could be hotter? He's a hot head in this story, full of bad decisions and debauchery. **

**The back story will unfold, but to recap: Elena and Damon were together - until they weren't. She has his daughter, which he knows nothing about. And obviously, his family does know about the little one. **

**I have always imagined Mama Salvatore as a strong, Southern woman, like Tammy Taylor or Leanne Touhy (or, my mom, grandma, aunts...), which offers up a unique contrast to the Italian Giuseppe. She's a force, Ginny Salvatore. She may well be my favorite character throughout this story. **

**So, this is the first update. It's not much, but hopefully it has piqued your curiosity. Let me me know what you think! **


	2. Principal's Office

**I had no idea that Damon as as NASCAR driver was such a popular wish for people! I feel a bit like a genie, granting wishes. :) Thank you all so much for the warm reception to the first update. I'm thrilled you all are excited about it! So thrilled that I'm going to go ahead and update again, since I have a bit of free time on my hands this evening and all! ****  
><strong>

**Lots of back story in this one - Damon's got a pretty busy mind. Pretty complicated one too...  
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**A couple more notes: **

**In NASCAR, the 'Nationwide Series' (which will be the Xfinity Series next year!) is basically Sprint Cup's junior varsity team, a farm team of sorts. Drivers who prove themselves there typically move into the Sprint Cup series. **

**Each series has a point system that rewards drivers points each race based on wins, finishes, etc. Sprint Cup has the Chase, but we'll get to that later. ;) **

**Also, NASCAR team headquarters? They are fancy schmancy. And Giuseppe built his from the ground up, slowly but surely. **

**Enough babbling. Let's get to know Damon a bit. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Vampire Diaries.**

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><p>Damon whistled as he walked through the halls of Salvatore Racing's headquarters, no real care in the world at the moment. He had slept until lunchtime, downed a sub from his favorite sandwich shop, and planned to put in an hour or two in the team weight room before he engaged in his favorite pastime of driving to the university one town over, drinking too much, and finding a co-ed to take home.<p>

"Damon."

He stopped in his tracks and rolled his eyes before turning towards the voice.

"Daddy." His father's piercing blue eyes, mirrors of his own, warned him to tread lightly. He sighed, doing a mental rundown of what he could have done this time. For once, he came up empty. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"Come in and shut the door," Giuseppe answered from the doorway of his office, his voice stern.

"Getting called to the principal's office," Damon muttered under his breath. Still, he entered the office and shut the door behind him. "What did I do this time?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he stood before his father's intimidating oak desk. Trophies, plaques and memorabilia lined the walls around them. Damon tried, as he did every time he was in the office, to ignore the fact that his name was engraved on very few of them.

"Sit down," Giuseppe ordered.

"Sorry, got to meet Enzo for a workout," Damon countered. "One of your many stipulations is for me to be in tip top shape, remember? So, you're going to have to talk fast."

"Enzo is on my payroll and will wait," Giuseppe informed him. "And, we both know I'm not talking about your body fat percentage when I say I expect you to be in good shape." Damon blew out a breath instead of firing off a sarcastic response. This wasn't anything he hadn't heard before and he wasn't in the mood for an argument. "Sit down, Damon."

Begrudgingly, Damon did what he was told.

"I really don't think I did anything this time," he said, going on the defensive from the start. "I've been on my best behavior for two straight weeks now."

"Your behavior hasn't been caught on film for two straight weeks," Giuseppe corrected. "But your behavior is still why I called you in. I hired a publicist."

"A publicist?" Damon repeated. "Don't we already have a marketing team? Hell, don't you pay Caroline to do that crap?"

"Language," Giuseppe corrected. "Our marketing team's primary role is to work with our sponsors. Caroline's role is planning events for those same sponsors who give us money to put you in a car. Given, shall we say, recent events, we made the decision to bring in someone to manage press and driver relations."

"So, I get my own publicist?" Damon asked, reading between the lines. He was working through whether this was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Technically, she's here for all of our drivers. Let's just call it a hunch that you will be the one that gives her a run for her money."

"So, she's a she?" Damon responded curiously. Giuseppe sighed and rubbed his temples, wondering not for the first time where he and his wife had gone wrong with Damon.

"I needed the best so I hired the best," he told his son. "She has been working with Marcos Racing out of Fontana for the last few years."

"The IndyCar team?" Damon asked, recalling the owner's name. Giuseppe nodded. "Didn't they get caught cheating a few years back? Had a driver given a lifetime ban?"

"For drug use," Giuseppe confirmed, giving Damon a pointed look. Damon rolled his eyes again. "She walked into a nuclear warzone when she joined that team, but managed to turn them from dirty cheats to philanthropic do gooders in the public's eye. I wanted her, so I went out and got her."

"Who is this Wonder Woman and when does she start?" Damon asked with a hint of sarcasm. Giuseppe didn't reply right away. Instead, he fixed Damon with a gaze Damon had long ago identified as meaning something important was about to be said and that he was expected to listen to each and every word. He waited, sure it had something to do with his less than stellar rap sheet.

"She starts on Monday," Giuseppe said. "And her name is Elena Gilbert."

Giuseppe watched as the color drained from Damon's face.

"What?" he asked, his voice suddenly scratchy as he tried to make sure he heard his father correctly.

"Elena Gilbert is the newest member of Salvatore Racing," Giuseppe repeated. "And you, Damon, will treat her with nothing shy of the utmost respect. Consider it another one of my conditions." Still shocked, it took Damon some time to compose a response.

"Elena?" he asked. "She's – here?"

"If by here, you mean in Mystic Falls, yes. She's here." Damon shook his head in disbelief.

"I haven't seen her in…"

"Three years," Giuseppe supplied. "It's been three years since that girl left town. I assume you remember why she left in the first place?" Damon didn't reply, his mind racing so fast he couldn't make sense of his thoughts.

"Why her?" he finally asked, torn between curiosity and, however unwarranted, anger. "Why Elena? You could have hired anyone…"

"I wanted the best," Giuseppe repeated. "Elena is the best. Racing is in her blood. She took on an impossible situation right out of college and came into her own. She will have her work cut out for her here as well, but I have no doubts she will succeed." Damon studied his father.

"Why do I get the impression her job is more secure than mine?" he finally asked. Giuseppe leaned forward, his elbows on his desk, and tented his fingers together. He looked squarely at Damon.

"I think we both know your job security is the most volatile of them all."

* * *

><p>Damon sat on the hood of his slick black luxury SUV, a cigarette burning in one hand, the fingers of his free hand tapping out a made up rhythm on the hood. He didn't smoke often, choosing to light up only when his stress level was skyrocketing or his nerves were rattled. Tonight, looking out over the river from a spot hidden away from most of the world, he didn't raise the stick to his lips. He was too far down the rabbit hole of his own thoughts to remember he had even lit it.<p>

He had sat in his father's office for another several minutes after he was told of Elena's hiring, half listening to Giuseppe give him a list of demands for how he would react to Elena, how he would treat her. The only thing he had actually comprehended was the fact that Elena Gilbert was back in Mystic Falls. Reeling from the news, he skipped out on his workout, giving Enzo an excuse he didn't remember, and went for a long run instead, his veins pumping with adrenaline.

The disbelief that Elena was not only back in Mystic Falls but also employed by his father had taken a while to wear off. He had assumed she would come back at some point, given that Mystic Falls was her home and her family had kept their residence there, even after moving to the west coast. He could have never predicted she would end up working at Salvatore Racing, however. He had also assumed he would still be a resident of the Sunshine State when she did turn up in the Mystic Falls zip code.

Racing was indeed her blood. Her grandfather was a NASCAR legend, her mother a former driver herself and still an advocate for women in racing. He knew enough about Marcos Racing to know they had a rocky few years. He had no idea Elena was behind the impressive turnaround of their public image. If she had wanted to move back to Mystic Falls, there were a dozen race teams in the area. She could have ended up at any one of them with just a phone call. He wasn't sure of the circumstances, but Giuseppe had gone out and ensured she was on his payroll and not the competition's. Either she was that good at her job or Giuseppe had a motive. Damon had the feeling the truth fell somewhere in the middle.

It had been a tumultuous few years in the Salvatore family. He grew up behind the wheel, racing karts and Junior Dragsters as soon as he was old enough. Giuseppe had been a full-time NASCAR driver and for Damon and his brother Stefan, their normal was weekends at race tracks across the country, doing schoolwork on private jets as they headed back to their home base in Mystic Falls on Sunday nights. That was how he got to know Elena, seeing her at races, playing together as children in the infield.

While Stefan had veered away from the driver's seat and was one of the best crew chiefs in the business, Damon had set his sites on NASCAR's Sprint Cup from an early age. He worked his way up through the ranks, chomping at the bit for a chance to get behind the wheel of a Sprint car. When his father retired and started his own team, he gave Damon, barely 20 years old, his first full-time ride in the Nationwide Series, the equivalent of NASCAR's Junior Varsity, letting him leave behind the days of jumping behind the wheel of whatever car someone would let him drive for the weekend.

That had been great, for a while. His first full season in the series, he won Rookie of the Year, finished fifth in the points standings at year's end. His second season, he won a few races, finished third in points. He started dating Elena in the off season, fell head over heels for her. The next season, he had shined. He had been near unstoppable, winning time and time again and bringing home the series championship, the first championship for Salvatore Racing.

He and Elena's relationship was strong during his championship season. She was busy at college, but still made a number of his races. She was his biggest fan and his only true confidant. His championship brought with it new opportunities that he embraced. The offseason was spent signing sponsorship deals, making public appearances. Giuseppe expanded his Sprint Cup team to two cars, one full-time, one half-time. He already had a solid full-time driver, but had agreed to let Damon take the half-time ride.

Without a real reason to believe it as fact, Damon had gone into the next Nationwide season with the expectation that it would be his last. He was sure his father would give him a full-time ride in the Sprint Cup. Maybe he had been too cocky, or maybe it was the target on back as the one to beat, but his season had gone downhill from the beginning, starting off with a crash at Daytona in the season opener that left him with broken ribs and took him out of the driver's seat for a couple of weeks.

His Sprint Cup debut a few weeks into the season hadn't gone much smoother. He had qualified poorly and as ready as he thought he was, everything had been bigger, faster. He crashed early in the race and spent his debut limping around the track, several laps down. He managed to salvage his Nationwide season with a pair of late season wins, but Giuseppe told him he wasn't ready to move full-time to the Sprint Cup series. He didn't speak to his father for two weeks, learning his father had, in fact, added a second full-time car and wooed a top driver away from his longtime team to drive it.

In the middle of his rocky season, things with Elena had gotten complicated. She was a senior in college, focused on making plans for her future, their future. She wasn't pushing marriage, by any means, but she was weighing her career options, wanted Damon's opinion on things like whether she should work in marketing with a race team or try her hand in another industry. He couldn't have cared less what she decided to do, too concerned with his own future to worry about hers too.

When Daytona rolled around again, it wasn't just his relationship with Elena that was on the rocks. He was still upset with his father for not giving him a full-time ride Sprint Cup ride and it was affecting his performance on the track. He crashed during the first three races, failed to qualify the first chance he got at a Sprint Cup race with the spare Salvatore Racing car as he had taken to calling the half-time ride.

His attitude started to get the better of him. Fights with not only Elena, but his father too, became more frequent. He stopped hanging out with the group of friends he grew up with and started spending time with a new crowd, drivers and crew members from other teams who liked to cut loose after races, drink too much and flirt with the girls that hung around the track. Elena told him exactly what she thought of his new friends, as did his father, which encouraged him to spend even more time with them.

The tipping point had come in the form of a mid-season offer from another team to take the place of a driver who had suffered season-ending injuries in a practice crash. He had accepted without hesitation and all hell had broken loose.

He closed his eyes, thinking back to how he had blown into his father's office and unceremoniously quit Salvatore Racing. He left the metaphorical path of destruction in his wake. A line had been drawn, him on one side, the rest of his family on the other. Elena had been beside herself, demanding to know if he had lost his mind. She had already been upset with him for missing her college graduation, not because he was at a race, but because he had gone off with his new friends for a long weekend, using the excuse of a bye week to party. The worst fight they had ever had followed.

Ultimately, he had been told to choose – his family or his career. He chose his career. His new team was located in Daytona and he had been thrilled to move away, start over. He was given quality equipment, raced hard week in and week out, ignoring his family at the track, screening phone calls from Elena. Outside of the track, he partied hard, let his newfound freedom go to his head.

Then Talladega happened.

"Ouch!" he breathed out, dropping the cigarette which had burned to nothing more than a stump between his fingers. He snuffed it out with his boot and gave his head a little shake. He had done enough reminiscing for the day, he decided. He took out his phone, found the contact he was looking for, and pushed send.

"Damon, my friend," greeted a British accent. "How goes it at Daddy Daycare?"

"Kiss my ass, Klaus," Damon responded. "What's the plan for tonight?"

"A bunch of us are headed to Tempo to start," Klaus replied. "We'll meander over to The Corner after that. The students are coming back from winter break. The co-eds with daddy issues will be ripe for the picking."

"I'll meet you at Temp," Damon replied.

"Aren't you supposed to be on your best behavior?" Klaus taunted. "One of Daddy's stipulations?" Damon swallowed back his irritation.

"My best behavior is not letting the public find out about my worst behavior," he said. He slid off the hood of his car and made his way to the driver's side. "Besides, I've got myself a fancy new publicist to handle any messes I make."

* * *

><p><strong>I know that was a lot of back story, but it will all be important to know over the course of the story, especially once the season starts. <strong>

**I _promise _Damon and Elena will interact in the next chapter - and it will be very Damon-like. :) **

**Please let me know what you think!**


	3. Not the Whole Merry-Go-Round

**Holy moly! 62 reviews for just 2 chapters? Y'all are amazing! I am absolutely loving the reaction to this story. You all seem as excited as I am about writing this! Guess that's part of the reason why this chapter is 2x longer than the last one! **

**Moving forward, when there is a NASCAR "thing" mentioned that might not be common knowledge, I'll do a definition/explanation at the end. So, see the bottom AN for more on "knockout qualifying." **

**And now... Damon and Elena. In the same place. **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Vampire Diaries.**

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><p>Elena absentmindedly chewed on her lip as she folded chocolate chips into the cookie batter she had managed to pull together in an attempt to keep Molly daughter occupied. It had worked for a few minutes, but Molly was now playing happily with an assortment of kitchen utensils in the floor nearby, singing a made up song to herself. Elena chuckled a bit as she heard Molly sing "<em>and then this spoon jumped into the pan with the fork and they danced with the blueberries." <em>

For the countless time over, she found herself wondering if she was doing the right thing. They had a perfectly good life in California. The Marcos treated her well. She had a close-knit group of friends there. Molly was happy, enrolled in a good preschool, and thriving in the sunshine. Even though her parents had decided to move to South Carolina with plans to open a small family practice to round out their golden years, she had no real reason to leave.

Except Giuseppe Salvatore was a persistent man. She wasn't surprised to hear from him. He called a couple times a month to check on her and Molly, say hello. Still, he blindsided her with his job offer. She didn't hesitate to tell him absolutely not. He called again a few days later, made her another offer. She humored him and thought about it for a few days, but again, told him no. The third time he offered, she couldn't shake the feeling that she should say yes. She talked it over with her mother, her confidant, and her mother agreed – she should take it. And so, she accepted Giuseppe's offer.

She knew the consequences. She had spent enough time over the last three years thinking about them, weighing them. Wondering if she was doing the right thing. Sometimes, she was absolutely convinced keeping Molly from Damon was the right thing, especially when his own family agreed it was for the best. Other times, she was overwhelmed by guilt, devastated by the fact that she had kept her daughter away from her father. Some days it was even crippling and she had to force herself to put one foot in front of the other. But then a new story about Damon brawling in a bar or a drug allegation would surface and she would be reminded that Damon was in no way shape or form ready to be a father.

It hadn't been her intention for keep Molly from him. She had found out she was pregnant in the midst of complete chaos. She had tried to tell him, but he kept pushing her way. His parents and brother had tried. Even her own parents had tried to get through to Damon. She had tried again to tell him after Molly was born, but again, no one could break through his self-imposed exile.

Now, she had a daughter who was two months away from being three years old whose father had no idea she existed. Molly Eleanor Salvatore was the spitting image of her father, a genetic marvel according to her pediatrician in California who had wondered at her vivid blue eyes when Elena's own dark features were usually the dominant genes. She did have Elena's hair color, but other than that, she was her father's child.

Damon was going to find out. That was an absolute truth. Now that she was back in Mystic Falls, working for Salvatore Racing, there was no way to keep Molly's parentage a secret from him. The fact that they had gotten away with it for almost three years was a wonder. How he would react when he found out was anyone's guess. She was well-versed in the ways of the Damon portrayed in the press. She heard the stories from his family. But they didn't mesh with the Damon she knew once upon a time, even if Ginny Salvatore, the most honest person she knew, told her she no longer recognized her own son.

"Mama, what's dis?"

Elena looked up from the cookie batter she had been staring at for the last several minutes to find Molly had climbed back onto the chair she had been standing on to help with cookies earlier. She held out a wire whisk for her mother's inspection.

"That, Miss Molly, is a whisk," she explained. "You use it to mix things when you bake."

"Like cookies?"

"Sometimes," Elena agreed. "You can use it for cakes and brownies too."

"Can we make a cake?" Molly asked. Elena smiled as the line of questioning continued. She loved that her daughter was curious, wanted to know about the world around her.

"Not today," she said. "We're making cookies today. But we'll make a cake soon, okay? Once our things get here and we have our new house all set up."

"I miss my toys."

"I know you do, baby girl," Elena said. She placed a chaste kiss on Molly's temple. "I miss my things too. But they will be here in three more sleeps."

"Three more sleeps?"

"Three more sleeps," Elena confirmed as she started to scoop dough onto a cookie sheet. Ginny's 'few groceries' had turned out to be a fully stocked pantry and refrigerator. She had also placed a set of pots, pans and utensils that looked suspiciously brand new in the kitchen cabinets. It really shouldn't have surprised her that Ginny had gone overboard. It was just what she did.

"Can I has a cookie now?"

"They have to bake, silly goose," Elena said. She lifted her petite daughter off the chair and placed her on the floor before moving the cookie sheet to the oven. She then picked Molly up again and carried her into the living room. An old couch and an even older box TV had been left by their previous renters and Elena was grateful, even if they had to be moved out of the house once her furniture arrived. It gave her a place to sit and a means of entertainment. She didn't have her furniture or most of her personal effects yet, but she did have a cable connection and internet.

"Mama?"

"Hmm?"

"Why is it cold outside?" Elena laughed as she sat down on the couch, her daughter in her lap.

"Because we moved to a new place," she explained patiently. "We moved to the whole other side of the country where the weather is different. It gets cold here in the winter and sometimes, it even snows. Like on Christmas movies."

"Huh," Molly said as though she was pondering on the subject. "Can we build an Olaf?"

"The next time it snows, we will build an Olaf," Elena agreed. She hugged Molly to her. "What do you think of your new house so far?" she asked, letting go of the toddler after a moment. She straightened the bow in Molly's hair.

"It's boring," Molly answered. Elena nodded.

"It is," she agreed. "It will be much, much better when all of our things are here. It will feel more like home then."

"Can I have a pink room?" Molly asked.

"I promised you could," Elena confirmed. "We can go pick out paint later." She looked around her childhood home. The entire place could use a facelift, really, she mused. The walls were all white and lacked warmth. The hardwood floors could use a good buffing. She was slowly starting to accept the fact that she was going to wage renovation war on her childhood home. "Want to know something cool?" she asked Molly, turning her attention back to the child.

"What?" Molly asked, ever inquisitive.

"Your new room was my room when I was your age," she said. "And my new room? That was Nana and Grandpop's room."

"Cool," Molly replied although she sounded less than impressed. Elena rolled her eyes, daring to believe she was already that boring to a toddler. Without the TV on, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway was easily heard. Elena let out an excited gasp for Molly's benefit.

"Someone's here!" she said in a singsong voice.

"Who?" Molly asked, already excited.

"I don't know," Elena replied conspiratorially. "We'd better go see." Molly leapt off her lap and ran towards the front door, Elena following her. She unchained the door while Molly worked on the door's deadbolt. Elena made another mental note to install a better lock, one Molly couldn't operate so easily. Locks undone, she pulled open the door. Molly let out a squeal.

"Aunt Care-line!" she cried. She took off at a run, her bare feet slowing only to maneuver the front porch stairs.

"Molly Bo-Bolly!" Caroline replied gleefully. She squatted to Molly's level with her arms wide open. Molly launched herself into them, wrapping her small arms around Caroline's neck and squeezing tightly. Elena followed slower, beaming at her best friend and daughter's reunion.

"What, no love for me?" Molly lifted her head from its resting place on Caroline's shoulder.

"Uncle Stef!" She wiggled her way out of Caroline's arms and ran to Stefan. He easily swung her up into his arms and hugged her just as tightly as Caroline had.

"You have a kid, and suddenly you are all the way at the bottom of the totem pole," Elena stated with a smile on her face.

"Oh, shut up and come here," Caroline replied. She was already halfway to Elena. "And it's totally your fault for having a freaking adorable kid." The two women embraced.

"I missed you," Elena breathed, squeezing Caroline even tighter. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, Elena," Caroline whispered, hugging her back with all of her strength. "More than you know."

"What do you say, rugrat? Should we get in on this hugging thing too?" Stefan asked Molly.

"Hug!" Molly cheered. Stefan wrapped his free arm around Elena and Molly mimicked him, wrapping her tiny arm around Caroline. When the four way embrace finally broke, Elena and Caroline both wiped at their tears.

"Girls are so emotional," Stefan stated, making them all laugh, even Molly, who laughed because the grownups did, despite not understanding the joke. He gave Elena another one-armed squeeze.

"You have been just as excited to see them as I have," Caroline reminded him. She took Molly from him. "Come on, Miss Molly. Show me this new house of yours." Caroline started inside with Molly, leaving Stefan and Elena to follow, pretending it was the first time she had ever seen the home for Molly's benefit, even though she had spent more time at the Gilberts than at her own childhood home just down the street when they were growing up.

"You are really back in Mystic Falls," Stefan stated as they climbed the stairs.

"I'm really back in Mystic Falls," Elena repeated. "I can't believe it either."

"Thoughts on it so far?" Elena sighed and opened the door to let them in. She could hear Molly talking animatedly to Caroline upstairs, telling her about how her new room used to be her mom's old room.

"I've been here less than 24 hours," she said. "And I've already gone back and forth between being thrilled to be back and convinced I should load our bags back in the car and head west again at least a dozen times." Elena led the way towards the kitchen with the intentions of removing the cookies from the oven before they burned.

"Mom and Dad are glad you're back," Stefan commented. "Mom especially is over the moon to have you and Molly here. She will be plying you with food, bringing unwanted household items over at random times of the day and night and, in your case, since you have her only grandchild at present, she will also be stealing your kid every chance she gets and spoiling her rotten."

"I was half expecting her to be on the front porch when we woke up this morning," Elena admitted. She opened the oven and used a balled up t-shirt to take out the tray of cookies. She placed another tray in and shut the door.

"You've been here less than 24 hours and you're already baking cookies?" Stefan asked.

"Your mother stocked my kitchen," Elena replied. "Apparently, the only thing she forgot was a set of oven mitts, hence the t-shirt. I needed to find something to occupy Molly this morning and so, we made cookies."

"I'm not going to complain," Stefan said with a shrug. Upstairs, Molly let out squeal and giggled loudly at something Caroline was saying, or by the sounds of it, doing. "I arrived just in time to sample the spoils of your labor." Elena rolled her eyes. Some things never changed.

"You and Molly can keep each other occupied while you wait for them to cool," she stated. Stefan pursed his lips for a moment.

"Speaking of Molly," he ventured, because he had to, given the circumstances. "Damon…"

"Is going to find out," Elena finished his sentence. The apprehension in her voice was clear. "Probably sooner rather than later." She sighed and leaned on the counter, picking up her train of thought from earlier. "What in the hell am I doing?"

"We kept it from him this long," Stefan reasoned, sensing Elena's anxiety. "We can keep it from him a while longer, until you figure out the best way to tell him."

"She looks just like him," Elena pointed out.

"Trust me, Elena," Stefan replied with a shake of his head. "Damon won't notice. He's too wrapped up in himself to notice much else. You could put a flashing neon sign that says 'I'm your daughter' around Molly's neck and he still wouldn't put two and two together. Maybe if you put her picture on a bottle of good bourbon, he might do the math."

"Is he really that bad?" Elena asked. Upstairs, two sets of footsteps went running from one end of the house to the other, followed by more giggling. Elena and Stefan both glanced upwards.

"You've read the press coverage?" Stefan asked, already knowing the answer.

"Of course," Elena said. "I had to know what I was walking into." She left out the fact that she had been reading about Damon long before Giuseppe Salvatore called with a job offer.

"Well, he's worse than that," Stefan told her bluntly. "Frankly, Mom and Dad will probably bury him before we have to bury them." Elena sighed.

"Your mom said something similar," she admitted.

"She probably said something about burying him before she has to bury Dad," Stefan replied, having heard his mother's thoughts on Damon's behavior far too many times to count now. "She's certain he will go before her."

"Ginny Salvatore will outlive us all," Elena stated, making Stefan chuckle.

"Yeah, well, unless something changes, she's going to be right about Damon." Elena shook her head.

"You're not making me feel better about him finding out about Molly," she told him

"Trust me, Elena. He's not going to drop everything to vie for Father of the Year. He will probably make it all rather dramatic at first, but then he'll get over it and go right back to being the self-centered jackass he's become." Elena frowned at Stefan.

"He's your brother," she reminded him. "He used to be your best friend, too." Stefan shook his head sadly.

"He's not my brother," he said. "We share the same blood, but the guy Damon has become? That's not my brother. He's certainly not my best friend." Elena looked at Stefan for several long moments, trying to figure out a response. The two had been inseparable growing up, thicker than thieves. Now, Stefan could barely stand to be in the same room as him from the sound of things. She opened her mouth to say something – anything – when the sound of Caroline and Molly thundering down the stairs interrupted them. Moments later, they burst into the kitchen, both dripping with Molly's dress up clothes, one of the few toys Elena had allowed her to bring with her in the car from California. She had started to regret that concession six hours into the first day of their drive when Molly had a temper tantrum in her car seat because she wasn't allowed to undo her buckles and put on her Cinderella dress.

"I am so glad you two are back," Caroline stated, absolutely glowing with a crown of plastic jewels on her head.

"Aunt Care-line and Uncle Stef bought me presents!" Molly added gleefully. She jumped up and down in place, a boa flapping around her neck, her layers of costume jewelry jingling.

"We did!" Caroline replied excitedly. "Let's go get them out of the car!"

"Caroline," Elena warned.

"What?" Caroline asked innocently, already turning towards the front door.

"If she asks for a pony, you can't buy her the whole merry-go-round," Elena reminded her.

"Has she asked for a pony?" Caroline replied innocently. Elena narrowed her eyes, making Caroline laugh as she took Molly by the hand and skipped out of the house. Elena sighed and looked at Stefan.

"Get your wife – and by proxy, your credit card balance – under control," she said. Stefan looked guilty.

"She's our niece," he said by way of explanation. "We haven't seen her six month."

Elena shook her head and left the kitchen to follow Caroline and Molly and see what damage had been done. She pretended to be annoyed, but truthfully, the bags of toys and clothes Caroline was pulling out of the car helped her believe, just a little, that she was doing the right thing. Molly deserved to be with her family. And her family loved her more than anything.

* * *

><p>Damon ran his hand along the lines of his Sprint Cup car. It was little more than a shell right now. The engine that would be dropped into it for testing in a couple of weeks was suspended from the ceiling nearby and tires, also for testing, lined a nearby wall. But even as a gray shell, he could feel the power behind it, envision how it would feel coming out of turn two of Daytona. He wrapped his hand around the window frame and felt the cold steel against his palm. This car was his last chance.<p>

"She's gonna be a beast at Daytona," came a voice. He turned to see his car chief, Enzo, walking towards him, wiping at his grease smeared hands with a filthy shop towel. Enzo had been one of his closest friends once upon a time and they had managed to fall back into an easy companionship, if not quite a friendship, since Damon returned to Salvatore Racing.

"If I can qualify," Damon muttered under his breath. Enzo heard him.

"Don't talk like that," he ordered. "No negativity, remember?"

"I know," Damon sighed. "But you know how things go with me and restrictor plate racing. Then with the new knockout qualifying…" He shook his head.

"You keep talking like this and I'm going to back the old man's idea about sending you to a shrink," Enzo told him seriously. "You're a good driver, Damon. A damn good driver. You're just in your head too much."

"I don't need a shrink," he replied, ignoring the part about being a good driver. He knew he was better than average when it came to the actual driving. It was everything else that came along with it that put him through the ringer. "What I need is a spot on the grid at Daytona."

"Start thinking a little more positive, then," Enzo advised. "I know you think that visualization stuff is a bunch of hokey, but it works." Damon rolled his eyes and picked up a nearby wrench.

"Next thing I know, you're going to start playing spa music during our morning workouts."

"Which you've skipped the last three days," Enzo pointed out. "I'm not in the business of tattling to the boss, Damon, but…"

"I'll be here in the morning," Damon cut him off. "I've had – stuff to do." Enzo didn't say anything. He just shook his head. He had all the faith in the world that Damon could be a great driver, not just a good one. It was Damon who didn't seem to agree, let alone put forth the effort to be successful.

"We're down a guy today," he said instead. "Come help swap out tires on a few of the trucks for testing." Damon nodded and put the wrench back where he had found it. He liked working around the shop. It wasn't expected of him – the other drivers didn't spend much time with a wrench in their hands – but he found solace in turning lug nuts and re-assembling transmissions. His passion was behind the wheel, but mechanics were a puzzle, figuring out what worked, what didn't. He liked the way it made his mind work – and that he could lose himself in the nuts and bolts of it all.

He fell into step beside Enzo, half listening as he went on about the rookie driver Giuseppe had brought on for the Camping World Truck Series, bringing his total of full-time drivers up to eight. It was a young kid, his name Damon didn't catch, who was reserved in his driving style, but showed promise. He went straight to work when they entered the truck shop, grabbing a tire from the rack and wheeling it into place. He worked methodically around the truck, tuning out the shop talk around him, and was just removing the fourth tire when a group of people entered the shop.

"And this is our truck shop," his father's voice carried through the big metal building. Damon peeked around the fender of the truck. His lost his grip on the air gun in surprise and it hit the ground with a clatter. The sound of the running air compressor covered the curse words that fell from his lips as he snatched it backed up and peered around the truck again, checking to see if his eyes were playing tricks on him.

There, in the flesh and hanging on to his father's every word, was Elena Gilbert.

* * *

><p>He was supposed to wait until the 'Meet Elena' meeting Giuseppe had planned for that afternoon to officially introduce Elena to the Salvatore Racing staff. Although it hadn't been said, it was his father's way of putting him and Elena in the same room together for the first time in three years with the least amount of risks possible. Surely, he would behave himself in a room full of people.<p>

He had intended to stick to the plan he had been given. He wasn't exactly in a position not to. But ever since seeing her in the truck shop a couple hours earlier, he had been anxious to get their first encounter out of the way. It was going to be awkward, no matter what, but like a moth to a flame, he couldn't stay away. And so, he had waited until he knew his father was on a conference call, located Stefan's whereabouts, and when he was sure he could get to her office uninterrupted, he headed straight for it.

She wasn't hard to find. He knew Salvatore Racing headquarters like the back of his hand. There was one empty office in the marketing department, previously used to store extra chairs and broken printers. He had seen it being cleared out last week, but hadn't known why at the time, nor had he taken much of an interest in finding out the answer at the time. He took the stairs to the third floor and made his way to her office halfway down the hall.

He walked up quietly. Her door was open, her full attention on the big screen Mac set up on her desk. He took the opportunity to just look at her, glad to see his obstructed glimpse in the truck shop earlier, hidden behind the shell of a Chevy, had hardly done her justice.

She was far more beautiful than he remembered. Her dark hair was a shade or two lighter, likely from her time on the west coast, and a few inches shorter than she used to keep it. She still wore minimal makeup, just enough to accent her best features. And, he noticed, she still bit her lip in concentration. He painted on a smirk, raised his fist, and knocked sharply on her doorframe. She startled at the sound and looked in his direction. He watched as a look of surprise and then recognition danced across her features. It was a guarded expression that settled in place, however.

"Elena Gilbert," he stated. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. "In the flesh. Very fine flesh, might I add."

"Damon," Elena greeted evenly. She swallowed hard and steeled herself. She knew this moment was going to happen, but she wasn't any more ready for it than she had been when she pulled her car into the parking lot of Salvatore Racing's headquarters that morning. It didn't help that Damon was still as handsome as ever, his hair intentionally messy, his eyes as vivid as she remembered. He still wore his old leather jacket.

"Welcome back," he replied.

"Thank you," she said carefully. "It's good to be home." Damon nodded.

"You look good," he continued. "More beautiful now than you were back when we were kids." He watched her take a deep breath and found satisfaction in the fact that he was making her uncomfortable, just like he used to do when he was chasing her around race tracks, trying to get her to agree to go on a date with him.

"And it appears you are even more trouble now than you were when I left," she volleyed back. Damon's smirk grew. She still had that spark he had loved too.

"Isn't that why they hired you?" he asked. Elena pierced him with a look that he couldn't quite define. It wasn't hatred, exactly, but it wasn't exactly full of love either. It was indifference, mingled with something he couldn't identify.

"I was hired to support and manage all eight drivers," she told him. "But I'm told you're the one that's going to give me the most trouble."

"Haven't I always?" he asked smoothly. Elena blew out another breath. It was taking an incredible amount of effort not to let him see just how rattled she was by his appearance.

"Can I help you, Damon?" she replied, her tone letting him know she had had enough of his small talk and implied innuendo.

"Can't I say hello to an old friend?" he asked. Elena shook her head.

"You can't," she said. Damon didn't quite understand it, but he knew somehow that those two words with loaded with meaning. He ignored that thought.

"Trust me," he said. "You won't be the first person around here that doesn't believe a word that comes out of my mouth." He tipped an imaginary hat at her. "I'll be going. I'll see you at your big debut to the rest of the Salvatore team." He smirked again. "It will be just like Miss Mystic Falls."

"So, I should expect to find you in a bathroom with your legs wrapped around a blonde?" Elena shot back before she could stop herself. Damon raised an eyebrow.

"I had forgotten about that," he admitted. "You were pissed. And we weren't even dating back then."

"You were my escort," Elena reminded him. "Against my will, at that." Damon opened his mouth to reply, to remind her that he had stepped up to the plate when her own date had bailed on her at the last minute.

"Damon!"

Damon groaned at the interruption.

"Little brother," he greeted, not bothering to look at Stefan when he appeared in Elena's doorway to him.

"Hey, Stefan," Elena greeted easily. Damon glanced at Stefan then, and then back to Elena.

"He gets a nice, polite greeting and I get accused of being a handful?" he asked.

"She call them like she sees them," Stefan informed Damon. "Don't you have somewhere you need to be right now?"

"Not really," Damon answered truthfully.

"Well, there's always something to do in the shop," Stefan continued. "Why don't you head down there, see if you can't make yourself useful until our meeting?" Damon glared daggers at his brother who glared right back. Elena observed the exchange, taking in every detail.

"Think of Stefan as the equivalent of the vice principal around these parts," Damon told Elena finally, breaking their stare down. "Which means I should go 'make myself useful' before he tattles on me to the principal – one Giuseppe Salvatore. I'll see you later. Welcome back." With that, he turned and walked away. Stefan watched him walk down the hall and disappear into the stairwell before turning back to Elena.

"You okay?" he asked. Elena sighed and sat back in her desk chair.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm fine. It's not like I didn't know that was going to happen."

"Still," Stefan said with a shake of his head. "He wasn't supposed to stop by your office like this. Dad told him to wait until the meeting this afternoon, probably wanted to be on hand to make sure Damon behaved himself. Although in hindsight, maybe Dad should have told him to stop in and say hello to you as soon as he could. Seeing as he does exactly the opposite of what's expected of him, he would have stayed as far away as possible."

"I don't need Giuseppe – or you – to run interference," Elena said gently, but firmly. "It's not like I didn't know I was going to see Damon again. I made the choice to come back here. Now, I have to deal with that choice."

"I know," Stefan agreed. "But, we're here if you need us."

"Thank you," Elena said with a nod.

"You settling in otherwise?" Stefan continued. Elena took a deep breath. She knew Stefan was trying to be helpful, but she felt like he was hovering, trying to protect her from Damon. She was determined to do this, to live in Mystic Falls with her daughter and work at Salvatore Racing, on her own terms. She didn't need Stefan to act as a bodyguard.

"So far, so good," she said. "I'm just getting my office organized and reading through some stuff the marketing director sent me about the upcoming season."

"That's the polite way of telling me to get out," Stefan said, catching on. "I'll see you at the meeting in a little bit." Elena nodded.

"Thanks, Stefan," she said. He nodded in understanding.

"I'll leave you to it," he said. When he was gone, Elena sighed and dropped her head to her hands.

Her heart was still racing from Damon's appearance. Despite her best efforts, she hadn't been remotely prepared to see him again. She had given herself a pep talk as she drove to Salvatore Racing that morning. She had ran through every scenario she could imagine in the last six weeks since accepting Giuseppe's offer. But no pep talk or role play in the world could have prepared her to see him standing before her, in the flesh. She thought she had done a good job of hiding it, but his appearance had shaken her apart at the seams.

It had been his eyes that had been her ungluing. She had just seconds to comprehend that he was in her doorway before her eyes had met his crystal blue ones, the very same eyes that looked up at her every night when she tucked Molly into bed. She hadn't expected it to be so overwhelming, the mixture of love, regret, anger, guilt and malice that had coursed through her veins. He had broken her heart and given her the single greatest gift he could have ever given her, all in one fell swoop.

Blowing out a long breath, she sat upright in her chair and tried to resume what she had been doing before Damon interrupted her. She glanced through a few emails that had already started to fill her inbox, but her attention was captured by the candid shot of Molly she had framed and placed on her desk that morning. She was here for Molly, she reminded herself. But, she would also do whatever she had to do to keep Molly safe and happy.

* * *

><p><strong>They have officially had their first meeting. Damon will meet Molly - sort of - next update. The next update will have a little bit of everything - Damon and Elena, Damon and Molly, Elena and Molly... <strong>**  
><strong>

**NASCAR stuff... **

**The Car Chief - in this case, Enzo - works closely with the crew chief to determine setups for the car (setups change from track to track, depending on a number of things). The car chief makes sure things get done to deliver the best car possible for race day, allowing the crew chief more time to work on overall strategy. **

**Knockout Qualifying - This form of qualifying went into effect for the 2014 season. It depends on track size - tracks bigger than 1.25 miles have slightly different rules than tracks smaller than that. Essentially, all cars go on the track at the same time for 25 minutes of the bigger tracks, 30 on the smaller ones. The fastest X amount of cars moves on to the next round and then the fastest 12 go out again. Starting position is determined from there, based on speeds. They actually don't do this type of qualifying for the Daytona 500 - they rely on two qualifying races - but for the purposes of my story, we're going to take creative liberties and pretend they do. **

**With qualifying, there are a handful of "provisional" spots that make up the tail-end of the pack. Those spots are given to drivers who didn't qualify based on speed, but their team owner has ownership points that will get them on the track. The final spot - 43rd - is reserved for a past champion who didn't qualify otherwise. Damon REALLY doesn't want a provisional spot, based purely on his own foolish pride. **

**And finally, in addition to Sprint Cup and Nationwide (the "JV" of Sprint), there is also the Camping World Truck Series - Damon was helping out with the Salvatore Racing trucks. **

**WHEW. I think that's all. We won't have long NASCAR explanations each chapter, promise! **

**Please continue to let me know what you think! **


	4. Miniature Red Pea Coats

**I can't believe there are 100 reviews for the first 3 chapters! I have written pretty far ahead in this one and I really love Damon's character. I started typing with one Damon in mind, but it morphed into another. Actually, he's still the same Damon I imagined, just with more layers. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. :) **

**Thank you so much for your reading and reviewing! And now, Damon's first encounter with Molly. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Vampire Diaries. Or _The Velveteen Rabbit. _  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Damon slipped into the large conference room quietly. It was a full house, the whole of the marketing department as well as every driver on the Salvatore Racing roster and whoever else Giuseppe thought important enough to invite sitting shoulder to shoulder to be formally introduced to Elena. Giuseppe was explaining her role in the organization to those gathered, but spared Damon a reproachful look for his tardiness. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the back wall, squeezed into a darkened corner where could observe without drawing Elena's attention. Although Giuseppe was doing all the talking, Damon's eyes were on Elena.<p>

She carried herself differently. She stood taller, exuded an air of confidence she had lacked before. He remembered her insecurities well. When they were together, she did a good job of coming across strong and independent, but she never quite believed he loved her as much as he had once upon a time. She had never believed she was good enough, pretty enough, enough enough to be with him. He wondered now when she had figured out that it had always been him that wasn't good enough for her.

Standing next to Giuseppe, she smiled and nodded as he spoke, laughed at a joke he made. As he watched her, Damon tried to sort out what he was feeling. Her re-appearance stirred something in him. He felt nostalgic, watching her. She reminded him of a time when things were simpler, when there weren't demands and stipulations, ultimatums and last chances. She was proof that there had been a time in his life when he had drove wide open, without a laundry list of issues trailing behind him. He was pulled out his reverie when Giuseppe asked her to say a few words.

"Thank you, Giuseppe," she was saying. With just a few words, she already had command of the room. "I'm grateful for the chance to be a part of Salvatore Racing. With the team Giuseppe has assembled, I know we will do great things." She paused and smiled brightly. Genuinely. "It's good to be home."

A murmur of congratulations and welcome homes ignited from the crowd. Giuseppe let them go for several moments before re-capturing everyone's attention.

"Daytona is six weeks away," he told the crowd. "We're throwing Elena in head first. She's ready to hit the ground running, which means the rest of us should get back to what we were doing before this meeting. Let's go win some races."

A cheer went up through the crowd that made Damon roll his eyes. His father emphasized teamwork and the idea that Salvatore Racing won and lost as a team. Damon knew that wasn't true, at least not in his case. Failure would always fall squarely on his shoulders. He turned to leave with the intentions of returning to the engine he had been tinkering with before the meeting.

"Damon, you hang back a minute," Giuseppe stated. Damon sighed and reversed course. He sat down on a now abandoned chair and waited for the crowd to thin out. He was careful now to look anywhere but at Elena and busied himself by making small talk with some of the other drivers in the room, most of whom hadn't quite warmed up to him, being the team owner's son with a sordid history. Finally, the last of the crowd left the room, leaving him, Elena, Giuseppe, and Stefan.

"Stefan, I'm sure your team has plenty of work to do before we head down to Daytona for testing next week," Giuseppe said, giving him a pointed look. Stefan sighed, but nodded.

"I do," he agreed. "I'll stop by your office later. I've got some stuff I want to show you that might improve the aerodynamics on the Sprint cars."

"Okay," Giuseppe replied. The two exchanged the briefest of looks, but Damon caught it.

"Don't worry, Stef," he spoke up. "Dad will be sure to fill you in on whatever he's about to ream me out for now." Stefan didn't say anything, just shook his head as he left the room. Giuseppe sighed audible and rubbed his temple. Elena, who had taken a seat at the opposite end of the table from Damon, remained quiet, observing. She seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Giuseppe moved so he was standing at the table's midway point, directly between Damon and Elena. They both looked at him, waiting.

"Damon," he started, "Elena has assured me that she can work with you in a professional manner. Will you be able to do the same?"

"I am nothing if not a professional," Damon said easily.

"Damon."

"I can be a professional," Damon replied with a slight edge in his voice. "Elena has nothing to worry about."

"We're adults," Elena added. She looked briefly at Damon and then back at Giuseppe. "What happened when we were kids is in the past." Giuseppe studied Elena for a long moment, knowing full well that nothing from the past was still in the past. They also hadn't been kids, but young adults, capable of making better choices than those that were made. Still, he nodded.

"Let's not make Elena's job any harder than it has to be," he said to Damon.

"You know, I'm really tired of everyone assuming I'm going to be the one that screws up," Damon countered. "How do you know Jeff or Martin won't mess up?"

"Jeff has two kids and a wife and Martin leads a youth group full of other driver's kids before races on Sundays," Giuseppe countered with practiced patience.

"Are we done here?" Damon asked, preferring not to do this in front of Elena. "I was in the middle of something before this meeting started."

"Go," Giuseppe said with a shake of his head.

"Elena, it was a pleasure," Damon said with a nod in her direction as he stood.

"Damon," Elena replied with a nod of her own. "We'll talk in the next couple of days about strategy for this coming year."

"Marketing strategy," Damon replied sarcastically. "Sounds fascinating." It sounded like someone else giving him another list of acceptable behaviors. There was a knock on the conference room door and a moment later, Caroline peeked her head in

"Hey, Elena," she said, glancing at Damon. "Um, we're back and I have a conference call I need to be on in a few. Where should I…" Before she could finish her sentence, however, something small pushed past her and blew into the room with a blur of blue and hair.

"Mama!"

"Hi, baby girl!" Elena replied happily. Damon watched in surprise as a tiny little girl climbed into Elena's lap and wrapped her arms around her tightly, Elena hugging her back. "How was your first day of school?"

"It not my first day," the girl countered. She sounded older than she looked. "It my first day at my new school, but not my first day of school." Elena raised an eyebrow.

"I stand corrected," she said, amusement clear. "How was your first day at your new school?

"Fun!" the child cheered. Damon couldn't take his eyes off the scene before him. He didn't know what he had expected. He knew full well that Elena had likely moved on, was probably in a serious relationship, maybe even married. He had never considered the possibility that she might have a child, too. "We learned about the letter 'M' and played outside."

"Oh, yeah? What did you learn about the letter 'M?'" Elena asked, completely absorbed in her child.

"Damon? You had something you wanted to get back to?" Giuseppe asked. He looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah," Damon agreed, tearing his eyes away from Elena and the little girl. He noticed Caroline standing near the door then. She appeared anxious, but he didn't bother to wonder why. With Caroline, it could be as simple as someone putting dressing on her salad at lunch instead of delivering it on the side.

He looked back at Elena and the little girl once more as he made his way to the door. The child sat in Elena's lap, talking animatedly, dressed in a dark blue dress, tights and boots, a big bow in her brunette hair, the same color as Elena's. He was nearly out the door when the girl looked in his direction. She smiled at him, but he couldn't bring himself to smile back. He was struck instead by her vivid blue eyes.

He tripped over a small, pink backpack with a big 'M' embroidered on it and a miniature red pea coat that had been abandoned in the hallway. Elena had a daughter. And that fact bothered it far more than it should.

* * *

><p>Damon turned the wrench in his hand with a skill that came not from years spent around garages, but a pure love of what he was doing. He finished tightening a bolt into place and locked the wrench around another. The lights went out.<p>

"What…?" he started, just as they popped back on.

"Sorry," Stefan apologized, appearing suddenly in the doorway of the garage bay. "I didn't realize you were still here. Thought I was the last one out."

"You usually are," Damon mused. He put his wrench back into position and started cranking away on the screw.

"That for the Camaro?" Stefan asked, taking a couple steps into the bay Damon had taken over with his junked out shell of a car.

"Yeah." He didn't offer anything else.

"You know, there's that guy a few hours south of here, fixed my Porsche up after Caroline backed into it…" Damon shook his head.

"I've got it under control," he said. Stefan shrugged.

"Suit yourself," he said. "Lock up when you leave."

"Yeah."

Stefan took a few steps towards the exit, but then stopped, his back to Damon, debating. Caroline was waiting at home with dinner and it had already been a long day. But Damon was his brother, despite everything, and he knew him well enough to know that something was bothering him. He turned back around and moved closer to Damon.

"Everything okay?" he asked, trying to sound casual. He picked up a socket wrench and spun it in his hand.

"Peachy," Damon replied. He moved his wrench to another bolt.

"You sure?"

"You care?" Damon countered, sparing a glance at Stefan. Stefan sighed.

"You're still here and it's eight o'clock at night," he pointed out. "You're usually pre-gaming for another night out right about now."

"There's only a few more weeks before the season starts," Damon reminded him. "With Daytona testing and everything else going on, I won't have much time to work on the Camaro." Stefan nodded in understanding.

"Then there's the fact that Elena Gilbert has reappeared." Damon's wrench slipped. Anyone else would have missed it, as quickly as Damon recovered, but Stefan knew Damon almost as well as he knew himself. He saw the wrench slip and knew it for what it was.

"Apparently she's the best racing publicist out there," Damon said. "Dad wanted the best, he went out and hired the best. So he told me."

"She is good at her job," Stefan agreed.

"And she has a kid."

Stefan nodded once. Caroline had found him in his office after picking up Molly, dramatically slamming the door shut behind her and telling him how she had tried to keep Molly out of the conference room, but she had managed to slip past her anyway, and she was now certain Damon knew he had a child. He had calmed her down, pointing out that Damon hadn't made a scene yet and likely was still oblivious. As confident as he was that Damon hadn't yet connected the dots, he had to make sure.

"She does," Stefan confirmed. "A little girl. Cute kid."

"She looks like Elena," Damon continued, focused on the engine suspended by chains hanging from the ceiling. Stefan raised an eyebrow. Molly had Elena's hair color and that was where the similarities ended.

"A little bit," he said to Damon, figuring it best to agree.

"Hand me that screwdriver by your left hand since you're still here," Damon said. Stefan obliged, his well-trained eyes looking over the work Damon had done so far. The Camaro would be the definition of an American muscle car by the time he was done with it.

"You sure you're okay?" Stefan asked.

"Stop pretending like you care," Damon said in a bored voice. He wedged the screwdriver into a hard to see space to loosen a screw. "I'm just fine." Stefan sighed. He had long ago learned that if Damon didn't want to talk, he wouldn't.

"Lock up when you leave," he said, repeating his earlier instructions.

"Yep."

This time, Stefan didn't bother turning around.

* * *

><p>"<em>Autumn passed and Winter, and in the Spring, when the days grew warm and sunny, the Boy went out to play in the wood behind the house." Molly signed contently, snuggled into Elena's side. Elena smiled softly, her check resting against the top of Molly's head as she read from the worn book. <em>

"_And while he was playing, two rabbits crept out from the bracken and peeped at him. One of them was brown all over, but the other had strange markings under his fur, as though long ago he had been spotted, and the spots still showed through. And about his little soft nose and his round black eyes there was something familiar, so that the Boy thought to himself: _

_"Why, he looks just like my old Bunny that was lost when I had scarlet fever!" _

_But he never knew that it really was his own Bunny, come back to look at the child who had first helped him to be Real." _

Elena closed the book. "The end," she said, dropping a soft kiss on the top of Molly's head.

"Read again?" Molly asked sleepily.

"It's bedtime," Elena replied. "You have already had two stories tonight."

"But _The Velvet Wabbit _is my favorite," Molly protested, even as she yawned.

"_The Velveteen Rabbit," _Elena corrected. "And I know it's your favorite. We can read it again tomorrow, okay?"

"Can we take it to the races?"

"We won't leave without it," Elena promised. While she wasn't necessarily looking forward to traveling nearly every weekend with Salvatore Racing, Molly seemed to have taken a shine to the idea of flying from race track to race track. Damon had been the same way when they were younger, always eager to head to the next state, the next track. She got out of the bed and pulled the blankets up around her. "Are you excited to sleep in a real bed tonight?"

"I like the air bed," Molly replied. She rolled over on her side and propped her head up on her hand.

"You're silly," Elena told her. "You get to sleep in Mama's big bed tonight. Isn't that way better than the air mattress?"

"I guess," Molly said with a dramatic shrug of her shoulders that made Elena laugh.

"We will get your bed all set up in your room tomorrow, okay?"

"Can we get a pony?" Molly countered. Elena sighed and shook her head.

"No," she stated. "No ponies."

"Aunt Care-line said…"

"Aunt Caroline is not the boss," Elena told Molly, gently but firmly. "Now, lay down and I'll pull the blanket around you just the way you like. I'm going to wash my face and brush my teeth and then I'm going to go to bed too." Molly did as she was instructed. Elena pulled the blanket around her and tucked her in.

"Mama?"

"Yes?"

"Do you like your new work?"

Elena studied Molly for a few moments. It would never cease to surprise her, just how smart and perceptive her child was. She often forgot Molly was just closing in on three years old. She often seemed older than she was.

"I do," she answered truthfully. "I like getting to see Aunt Caroline and Uncle Stefan and Gigi and Nonno almost every day. I missed them when we lived in California."

"I miss Nonnie and Pappi," Molly replied, referring to Elena's parents.

"I miss them too," Elena admitted. "But we will see them soon enough." She smoothed a hand over the comforter. "Do you like your new house?" she asked. It was important to her that Molly be happy. They had been in Virginia for less than a week and their things had only been delivered that day, but so far, Molly seemed to settling right in, despite the quick turnaround between the time they left California and the time they arrived in Virginia and started what would be their new normal.

"I guess," Molly said. "Can we make my room pink?"

"The painters will start next week," Elena told her. "They will make the whole house pretty colors."

"Pink?"

"Just your room," Elena said with a shake of her head. "What about your new school? Do you like it?"

"It's fun," Molly confirmed. Then she frowned. "Mama, do I really have a daddy?" It was Elena's turn to frown.

"Of course you do," she said. "Everyone has a daddy."

"But my daddy's not here," Molly continued. "Katie said I don't have a daddy if he's not here." Elena sighed. She knew Molly would ask questions at some point, but it broke her heart to hear her actually asking them, especially so young.

"What has Mama told you about your daddy?" she asked Molly.

"That he loves me all the way to the moon and back, even if he's not here," Molly said. Elena nodded.

"That's right," she confirmed. "Even though your daddy isn't here, he loves you very much. Don't let Katie tell you any different, okay?"

"Katie said _Frozen _was dumb because girls can't freeze things with their fingers," Molly said. "But that's just because we don't have that kind of magic. Katie is dumb so I won't listen to her."

"We don't say people are dumb," Elena corrected. "That's not very nice."

"Katie's not my friend," Molly stated.

"You just be nice to people," Elena told her. "Even when they are mean to you. Okay?"

"Okay," Molly agreed. She yawned. "I'm sleepy."

"Yes, you are," Elena agreed. "I'm going to get ready for bed. I'll be right back."

Elena left Molly and went into the bathroom. She leaned on the counter and took a long look at herself in the mirror. The last six weeks had been nothing shy of a whirlwind. After giving her notice to the Marcos', she had set to work purging her house, deciding what to take with her and what to donate to charity. There had been a going away party for her parents and then then another one thrown by her friends for her and Molly. She had scrambled to pack, hired a moving company, enrolled Molly in a new preschool and tried her best to prepare herself for going home.

She had opted to drive from California to Virginia. With Molly in tow, it was an undertaking no one had been thrilled with. Her parents and the Salvatores had did everything shy of turn up on her doorstep and force her onto an airplane to stop her. But she had wanted the time alone the drive provided her. It gave her time to reflect, to decide how she would handle Damon, how she would introduce him to Molly, how she would explain to Molly that he was her father.

Her biggest worry, however, was how Damon would react. She was prepared for him to be angry. She could hardly blame him. Not only herself, but his entire family too, had kept a very big secret from him for nearly three years. Once he knew the truth, she wondered if he would step up and be a father to Molly. More so, she wondered if he had the capability to step up and be a father, given his behavior in recent years.

With a heavy sigh, she set to her routine of washing her face and brushing her teeth before bed. Molly had and always would be her top priority. The truth could come out at any moment. When it did, she had to ensure that Molly didn't get hurt. Even if she, herself, was bound to.

* * *

><p>Damon draped a towel around his neck and exited the Salvatore Racing gym. He whistled to himself, pleased with how his workout had gone. He wasn't quite to his former level, but he was getting there, session by session. He set his trajectory towards the shop, intending to work on his Camaro before an afternoon driver's meeting, figuring it would be a waste of time to shower after his workout when he planned to get good and greasy.<p>

"Damon."

Her voice was as familiar now as it had been years ago. He turned to find Elena standing at the end of the hallway, dressed in dark wash jeans and a long sleeve top, her hair pulled half back and held in place by an ornate hair clip. He took a beat to acknowledge her, tripped up by both her appearance and the fact that she was more beautiful than he remembered.

"Elena," he greeted, his voice smooth despite the surprising turn of nerves he felt in his stomach.

"Got a minute?" she asked. Damon shrugged.

"I guess," he said. He started walking in her direction. "Did I already do something to get myself in trouble?" Elena looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Have you?" she countered. Damon shook his head.

"Not this week," he answered. "Call it second nature to figure I'm in trouble for something when someone around here asks to speak to me."

"Maybe you shouldn't get yourself in those situations so often then," Elena stated as though it were the simplest solution there was. And, Damon reasoned, it probably was.

"If I'm not about to be reprimanded for leaked iPhone photos or eyewitness accounts of debauchery, what can I do for you?" he asked.

"I think we should talk," Elena said. She was all business, Damon noted. He nodded, not entirely sure what she would want to talk to him about. He had expected her to keep her distance as much as possible.

"Let's talk," he agreed.

"Come on," Elena said, motioning towards a nearby door that led outside. "Let's go for a walk." Damon fell into step beside her, his curiosity growing. It was unseasonably mild for January, a nice enough day by all accounts. But, if she wanted privacy, he didn't see why they couldn't go to her office. They remained quiet as they exited the building. The grounds around Salvatore Racing were well-kept and Elena lead the way down a foot path that looped around the sprawling complex.

"So, we're walking…," Damon started. He heard Elena sigh.

"I know we both told Giuseppe we can work together," she started. "But, I thought we should talk it out. I know Giuseppe surprised you with my hiring. He surprised me with the offer. So, I wanted to address the elephant in the room. Can you work with me?"

Damon looked at her with a raised eyebrow. He was surprised at her gumption. It looked like he was right about her being surer of herself these days.

"Oh, I think you can remember just how well we work together," he said smoothly. He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the sentence formed, but he couldn't stop himself. It was instinctive, for him to slip on a cool demeanor and pretend he wasn't affected by his surroundings. Elena sighed again and shook her head.

"Be serious, Damon," she said. "Can you work with me? Professionally? Not as an ex-girlfriend or former friend, but as a co-worker?"

"Like you said, we're both adults," Damon answered. "I can work with you, if you can work with me." Elena nodded. Neither of them knew if that statement held truth.

"Good," she said. "That's all I wanted." She turned to head back to towards the office, but Damon reached out and grabbed her arm, surprising himself as much as her.

"Why did you take the job?" he asked. It was a question he had been pondering since Giuseppe told him she was joining the team. He hadn't necessarily intended to ask her right then, but the words had slipped out before he realized he was asking them.

"It felt like the right thing to do," Elena answered easily. "My dad retired and they moved to South Carolina to open a small family practice in a coastal town. When Giuseppe called with the offer, it made sense to accept it, move home and closer to my parents."

"A family practice in a coastal town in South Carolina?" Damon asked. "Sounds idyllic."

"Looks like it, judging by the pictures they've sent," Elena countered, ignoring Damon's sarcasm.

"And it appears you have a daughter," Damon continued. Elena looked at Damon quickly. He raised an eyebrow. "Or you don't," he added. Elena sighed and shook her head once. She hadn't expected Damon to ask about Molly and she certainly hadn't been ready for it. But, from what she could tell, he didn't seem to have any idea that Molly was his.

"I do have a daughter," Elena answered. "Molly."

"Cute kid," Damon commented. They had resumed walking, slowly heading back in the direction they came from.

"She's pretty great," Elena said. The thought of telling Damon the truth, that Molly was his child, briefly entered her mind, but she dismissed it almost as quickly as it came. Now wasn't the time.

"So, where's her dad?" Damon continued his line of questions. "I am, of course, assuming by the lack of a ring on your finger and the 'Gilbert' of your last name, that you aren't married." Elena nervously ran a hand through her hair. Damon's questioning was getting too close to the truth.

"He's… Not in the picture," Elena answered, giving the same response she always gave when someone asked about Molly's father.

"Ah, dead beat dad," Damon mused. Elena shook her head.

"No," she said simply. She felt herself shifting into defensive mode. She had made sure Molly believed her father was a good man. Deep down, she knew Damon was a good man. Even though Damon had no idea about Molly, Elena felt a need to make sure he knew Molly's father wasn't a bad guy.

"One night stand," Damon guessed. Elena shook her head again.

"It's complicated," she said. "It's just me and Molly."

"Elena Gilbert does complicated," Damon said. "Interesting turn of events." Elena remained silent, suddenly eager to put some distance between her and Damon. "How's your brother?" he asked, changing the subject. Elena stiffened. Damon raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment.

"He's dead," Elena answered bluntly. Damon stopped in his tracks.

"What?" he asked in disbelief.

"He's dead," Elena repeated. "Died two years ago."

"I didn't know," Damon said with a shake of his head. He wondered how he had missed the news that Jeremy Gilbert had died. He hadn't exactly been in talks with his family. He certainly hadn't been chatting with Elena. But surely he should have heard something, somewhere, about the grandson of a racing legend dying, if only whispered about in the garages of race tracks.

He shook his head again, as though trying to clear away a fog. Though he knew Elena wouldn't lie about something like the death of her brother, he still didn't quite want to believe it. He had always had a soft spot for the mousy headed kid. A bit reckless and only mediocre behind the wheel, he had moxie all the same. And despite his many flaws, the kid had loved his older sister.

"He overdosed on pain killers," Elena told Damon. "He chased them with alcohol. Nothing we didn't see coming, if I'm being honest. Drugs and alcohol ruined him." Damon didn't miss the look she shot in his direction. He diverted his eyes to the ground for a moment.

"I'm so sorry, Elena," Damon said sincerely. He wanted to reach out, comfort her, but he could practically see the wall Elena had put up between them so he kept his arms at his side. "I would have come to the funeral…"

"There wasn't one," Elena told him as they resumed walking once more. She knew Damon wouldn't have come to the funeral, even if there had been one. "He wanted to be cremated and have his ashes spread along the shoreline. Bit of a morbid dinnertime conversation topic a few weeks before he died."

"Still, I'm so sorry," Damon said. "I know you two were close." Elena nodded, the threat of tears stinging at the back of her eyes. She refused to let them fall in front of Damon.

"We were," she agreed. "He was always there for me." They arrived at a side entrance of Salvatore Racing. Elena quickly swiped her employee badge and pulled the door open. "Thanks for the chat," she said. She started inside. Once again, Damon reached out and stopped her. Even now, he couldn't let her leave him upset.

"You okay?" he asked, his eyes searching hers. Elena looked at him for a long moment. Then she nodded.

"I'm fine," she said. Without another word, she turned and walked inside, the door shutting behind her. Damon remained on the other side of the door for a long moment, and then shook his head once more, reeling from the news of Jeremy's death and confused by his conversation with Elena as a whole. It had been like talking to his best friend and a total stranger, all at once.

Sighing, he dug his own badge out of his wallet and swiped it, returning to his intentions of working on his Camaro with hopes he would be able to distract himself.

* * *

><p><strong>Thoughts on what Damon thinks about Molly? Is he completely oblivious? On to them already? Feeling like something isn't quite adding up? You don't have a lot to go by right now, but I'd love to read what you think! <strong>

**It was really important that Elena tell Molly her father is a good man. She feels a lot of guilt about how things have gone and I think her telling Molly her dad loves her, even if he isn't with her, is a way she makes up for that. But, again, I'd love to hear what you think! **

**And I'm sorry about Jeremy. :/  
><strong>

**Up next - you'll learn more about Talladega. **

**Let me know what you think!**


	5. Shop Talk

**It's officially Thanksgiving week! And apparently, Virginia is about to get a fair amount of snow - which means more time for writing, as I'll be snowed in and all! **

**Thank you so so much for reading and reviewing. Damon and Molly will interact plenty in chapters to come and I don't plan to drag out Damon finding out the truth. It's still a few updates away, but really, the story starts from when he finds out. :) **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Vampire Diaries.**

* * *

><p>Damon sidled up the bar, slapping a hand on the back of a familiar brown jacket.<p>

"Kol," he greeted. The man turned towards him.

"Salvatore," he replied with his cheeky grin and British accent. "No daddy shadowing you?" He pretended to look around for Giuseppe.

"Go to hell," Damon muttered, settling onto the stool next to Kol. "Where is Elijah?"

"Over in the corner, making his move," Kol answered, jerking his head towards where Elijah was working his charm on a couple of blond co-eds.

"He's starting early tonight," Damon commented. The bartender slid a glass of straight bourbon in front of Damon. He frequented the bar enough that the staff knew his drink of choice. He nodded his thanks before raising the tumbler to his lips.

"He has been drinking since noon," Kol supplied. "You were invited, but didn't show. Klaus bailed too – he's still hungover from last night."

"Some of us had a drivers meeting they had to attend," Damon answered.

"Never stopped you before," Kol pointed out.

"Like you're fond of reminding me, Daddy runs a tight ship." Damon took a long swig of his bourbon. He reached into his pocket, took out a small blue pill, and popped into his mouth, chasing it down with alcohol. Kol raised an eyebrow.

"Should you be doing that?" he asked. "I'm sure the bottle that came out of had some sort of warning label about mixing prescription drugs and alcohol."

"It's just a Valium," Damon said dismissively. "Not like that shit's strong enough to work on me anyway. I need a horse tranq to take the edge off." Kol shook his head, but didn't argue. This wasn't the first time he had witnessed Damon chase a pill or two with a glass of bourbon.

"How's that fancy new publicist of yours working out?" he asked instead. Damon shrugged.

"I haven't pissed her off yet," he said. "Which is saying something, seeing as she's my ex-girlfriend." Kol's eyes widened.

"Elena Gilbert?" he asked. He remembered the petite brunette with curves in all the right places. He had been envious of Damon back in the day for landing Joseph Gilbert's granddaughter.

"One in the same," Damon confirmed. He downed what was left of his bourbon and signaled for another round. He had been on edge since his walk with Elena and that edginess had only been heightened during their drivers meeting, with her sitting across the table from him and his father laying down the law on how he expected drivers to behave throughout the season. Giuseppe presented it as a blanket statement, but Damon knew the message was really meant for him.

"She still hot?" Kol inquired. Damon nodded.

"Very," he confirmed. "Despite the fact that she has a kid." Kol raised an eyebrow.

"She has a kid?" he repeated. A thought hit him. "It's not yours, is it?" Damon scoffed.

"Of course not," he said, dismissing the ridiculous idea. A new glass of bourbon appeared in front of him. He picked it up and took another long swig. "I haven't been with her in years."

"Can you work with her?" Kol asked. "Without trying to get her in bed, I mean?"

"If I can work with my dad, I can work with anyone," Damon commented. He rolled his neck, feeling some of the tension leaving it as his Valium kicked in. "You testing next week?"

"Be a fool not to," Kol replied. He looked at Damon again. "You're testing, right?" Damon nodded.

"Got to get the feel of the new ride," he said, trying to sound casual. "I've drove a Toyota for the last few years. Switching over to a Chevy is going to take some getting used to."

"Is it the Chevy you have to get used to? Or is it restrictor plate racing?" Damon didn't say anything in response, but glared at Kol who chuckled. He took a drag from his beer. "Just checking," he said.

"Kiss my ass," Damon muttered. He continued downing his bourbon and talking about Daytona testing. He was halfway through his third glass when a statuesque strawberry blonde with green eyes sidled up to the bar next to him.

"Hey there," she said, giving him her best sultry smile. He returned it with one of his own.

"Well, hello," he replied. He turned on his bar stool so he was angled towards her. On his other side, Kol smirked into his beer.

"That guy over there said you would buy me a drink," the girl replied. Damon looked in the direction she had tilted her head to find Elijah. He grinned at Damon and raised his drink to him in a toast. Damon winked at him and then turned back to the girl in front of him.

"Did he, now?" he asked. The girl nodded in confirmation. Damon couldn't help but notice her generous chest and slender waist. She wasn't drunk, but she had already had a few drinks, based on the smell of her breath. He signaled the bartender. "Another bourbon for me," he said. "And for the lady…"

"A PBR," she supplied. Damon raised an eyebrow. She was drinking cheap, domestic beer. In his experience, that boded well for how his night would end. The bartender nodded and disappeared to get their drinks.

"You're a fourth year?" Damon guessed, knowing the students at the local university referred to themselves by how many years they had been at the university instead of whether they were a freshman or a senior.

"Third year," the girl answered. "I'm pre-med."

"Most of you are," Damon said with a casual shrug. "And those of you aren't, are either future MBAs or pre-law."

"What do you do?" the girl asked. She flicked her hair over her shoulder. Damon's smirk grew. His job title happened to double as great pick up line.

"I'm a NASCAR driver," he said smoothly. The bartender brought their drinks. Damon handed the girl her beer.

"Oh, really?" she asked. She leaned in closer.

"Really," Damon confirmed. "I like to drive fast." The girl reached out and put her hand on his forearm.

"Maybe you can give me a ride sometime," she proposed. Damon grinned.

"Maybe," he agreed. He clinked his glass with her beer bottle. It was going to be a good night.

* * *

><p>"He's twenty minutes later," Giuseppe stated. Elena sighed and tapped her pen on the legal pad in front of her. He had been announcing Damon's tardiness in five minutes increments. She didn't need his timekeeping skills to know how late Damon was. She had her own schedule to keep.<p>

"Maybe he didn't get the meeting invite," Elena suggested for the second time since they entered the conference room, even though she knew he had. He had accepted the meeting request almost as soon as she sent it.

"He got it," Giuseppe grumbled. "He went out last night. He's sleeping it off somewhere instead of honoring his obligations." Picking up on Giuseppe's disgruntled mood, Elena kept quiet and busied herself with checking emails on her iPad. She was reading an email about the upcoming school carnival when the conference room door swung open. Damon entered the room, his hair as rumbled as his clothing. She didn't have to look past his bloodshot eyes to know he was hungover.

"And so it begins," she muttered. No one heard her, however. Giuseppe was too busy glaring at Damon who was staring daggers right back at him, daring him to say something. Giuseppe wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

"You're late," he stated. Damon looked at his wrist as though checking his watch, despite the fact that he wasn't wearing one.

"Well, look at that," he drawled. He meandered over to the conference table and took a seat across from his father. "Don't worry, Daddy. I didn't do anything that made the papers."

"It's more Facebook and YouTube I'm worried about," Giuseppe countered, still glaring at Damon. Damon merely shrugged. From her spot at the head of the table, Elena's eyes darted between the two, waiting. When nothing else was said, she seized her opportunity.

"Now that you're here, let's get started," she said, passing Giuseppe and Damon each a stack of papers.

"All business," Damon stated as he took his.

"I have another meeting right after this one," Elena said pointedly. Damon had the good sense not to respond. "The agenda for our meeting is on top of the papers I just handed you. To paraphrase, we're going to go over media protocol for the upcoming season as well as a few preliminary appearances I've scheduled, mostly for Daytona week. You will have more throughout the season, as well as sponsor obligations, but we can discuss those as they come."

"'Media protocol' sounds like one more list of rules I have to abide by," Damon stated, flipping through the stack without really reading it.

"It's nothing I haven't said to any of the other drivers," Elena replied. "Most of it is common sense." She looked directly at Damon, challenging him with her tone.

"By all means, continue," he said with a wave of his hand. Elena barely refrained from rolling her eyes, reminding herself she had to be professional. She turned to the next page in her own packet and following her example, Giuseppe and Damon did the same.

"First of all, you need to be on time." Elena game him a stern look. "When you are expected somewhere, be it driver introductions, an autograph signing, an interview, a fan event, or a sponsor event, you show up when you are supposed to. It wouldn't hurt for you to be five minutes early, if you can swing it."

"Especially for a sponsored event," Giuseppe added. Elena's eyes flickered at him, ready to cut him off if needed. She knew his relationship with Damon was volatile and felt like she needed to be a mediator just as much as a publicist when it came to the two of them.

"I'll be Johnny on the spot," Damon said with an edge to his voice. He ran a hand through his already messy hair. Elena used to find his habit attractive. Now, she thought he needed a shower.

"I'm also going to need you to look the part, Damon," she told him. "None of this showing up hungover business. I don't give a damn what you do on your own time, but when you have a Salvatore Racing obligation, you turn up dressed in a team polo, tucked in, and not reeking of alcohol."

"I don't smell like alcohol," Damon argued, even though he could still smell the previous night on his clothes. He hadn't had time to change.

"You do," Elena informed him. "Speaking frankly, you also smell like cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, bad decisions and mouthwash."

"Bad decisions is relative to the one making the decisions," Damon mused. He leaned back in his chair, lacing his hands together behind his head. He knew he was pushing his luck, and he had promised Elena they could work together, but he wasn't in the mood for business this morning, and he was never in the mood to deal with his father.

"That's not what we're here to discuss," Elena stated. Giuseppe raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. Elena was laying down the law from the beginning and he was going to let her. "I don't care if you're the owner's son. You're going to be held to the same standards as every other driver on the Salvatore Racing roster."

"Not to mention the impossibly high, completely unattainable ones of my father," Damon said, shooting Giuseppe a dirty look.

"You have brought it on yourself," Giuseppe told him. "You're on probation from NASCAR, Damon. Or have you forgot?"

"Not like you would let me," Damon fired back.

"We are not here to discuss Damon's probation," Elena spoke up. "We are here to discuss marketing plans." Damon sighed as did Giuseppe.

"Let's hear it, then," Damon said, settling back into his chair. Elena continued rambling down her list and then walked Damon through his first media obligations. He raised an eyebrow as she read through the short list. "That's it?" he asked when she finished. Elena looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that's it?" he repeated. "I've got like, four interviews and an appearance at my sponsor's headquarters during Daytona week."

"That's it," Elena confirmed. Damon shook his head.

"There has to be more." He had been at this for a while. He knew what Daytona week was like, whether in the Nationwide Series or the Sprint Cup Series. He typically had more obligations than he had time, sometimes so much so that he was double booked. Elena blew out a breath and somehow, he knew the real answer before she said it.

"You don't have the best reputation," she said gently. "We're working on turning that around. It's just going to take some time." Damon sighed and shook his head.

"You make one mistake…"

"You have made more than one," Giuseppe said sternly. "We both know that."

"Do you have to consistently remind of how big of a fuck up I am?" Damon asked. "I hate to tell you, Dad, but I'm pretty well versed in what you think of me by now."

"I think you are a talented kid with a broken moral compass," Giuseppe fired right back. "I'm trying to help you, Damon. But I can only do so much. You showing up almost a half hour late for a simple marketing meeting isn't proving to me that you are trustworthy. And I'm not the only one watching. NASCAR has their eyes on you."

"Yeah, the whole probation thing," Damon said, his voice raising. "Which is a bunch of bullshit anyway."

"You got into a brawl in the Talladega garage and intentionally wrecked a fellow driver," Giuseppe pointed out. "As a NASCAR driver, that is not something you can do and get away with. You are lucky you got off with probation and a fine."

"Yeah, I got off real easy," Damon responded. "I'm driving for a prison warden."

"That prison warden is the only one who would give you a ride after the stunt you pulled at Talladega."

"Never mind the fact that I nearly died at Talladega," Damon scoffed. "That's not important."

"Enough!" Elena erupted, slamming a hand down on the table. The two Salvatores looked at her, both surprised by her outburst. "I don't know the whole story and I don't want to know the whole story. But, the two of you need to put your anger at one another aside and be professionals. Focus on racing. You don't have to break bread together but you damn sure need to be respectful of one another. And of me and my time. Damon has already wasted 30 minutes of it by being late. I don't need to waste any more of it listening to the two of you argue over something that is between the two of you. I have other meetings today, a growing pile of work to do, and a daughter I need to pick up at four o'clock sharp."

Damon had been reprimanded every way from Sunday in the last six months alone, but there was something about the way Elena had cut into their argument that made him feel small. He shrunk back in his chair and let out a long breath.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, looking at Elena. "I got carried away."

"I apologize as well," Giuseppe supplied. He glanced toward Damon for a moment. He hadn't heard his son apologize, at least not genuinely, in so long he had started to believe Damon had forgotten how. "I can't say it won't happen again as Damon and I are both passionate people. But, if we start up again, by all means, interrupt us and set us straight. I daresay you reminded me of my wife." Damon smiled. It was brief, but Elena caught it.

"You are both forgiven," she said. "Can we continue?" Both men nodded. "As I was saying, we're going to have to work on turning around the public – and NASCAR – perception of you, Damon. That means being on time, presenting yourself well, and not saying anything moronic."

"I can do that," Damon said with a nod. Elena nodded as well.

"I know you can," she agreed. "I've seen you do it." There was a brief moment when they both thought back to the days when they were together and Damon was winning big on the NASCAR Nationwide circuit. "Just be patient, Damon. And keep your nose clean. We will get things turned around."

Damon nodded, suddenly not trusting himself to speak. He found that he believed Elena when she said things were going to turn around. She sounded so confident. It had been a long time since he felt hopeful about the days and weeks ahead, but he felt a faint stirring of sorts that things might work out in his favor for once.

"That's why we hired you," Giuseppe said with a nod. "Anything else, Elena?"

"One more thing. Damon, Salvatore Racing is going to be making a donation to the children's hospital, specifically the NICU. The check presentation is the Tuesday after Daytona and we're asking that the drivers make an appearance, visit with the parents, maybe some of the kids in other units as well. Are you up for that?"

"Shaking hands and kissing babies? I can handle that," he agreed. "Just – one question."

"Let's hear it."

"Why the children's hospital?" Damon asked. "I mean, I get it. Sick babies tug at the heartstrings or whatever. But we had a tire changer whose wife had some kind of cancer, right? Why not support that? Something that Salvatore Racing has a direct tie in with. Isn't how this stuff is supposed to work? I don't think we have any tie ins with sick kids."

"You've put some thought into this," Giuseppe mused, clearly surprised that Damon seemed to be taking an interest in the company's charitable endeavors. To keep the peace, Damon opted not to reply.

"My daughter was a NICU baby," Elena said softly, avoiding making direct eye contact with Damon. "Giuseppe asked me to put something together and this is what I thought of."

For the second time in less than a half hour, Damon felt like someone had stepped on him.

"I didn't know," he said. He realized he had said some form of 'I didn't know' to Elena several times now, between finding out she had a daughter, Jeremy's death, and now learning her child had spent time in the NICU. "Again, I'm sorry." He had been saying that to her a lot too.

"It's fine," Elena said with a shake of her head. "You wouldn't know. If you would rather do something else…" It was Damon's turn to shake his head.

"I'll be there," he said.

"Good," Elena answered with a nod. "That's all I have. You're free to go."

"Thank you, Elena," Giuseppe said, standing. "Damon," he added with a cordial nod which Damon returned. He excused himself from the room, leaving Damon and Elena alone. Elena gathered her things while Damon stood, his eyes on her. He felt guilty. He pinned it on the fact that he had been ate and then unknowingly suggested an alternative to something he had already figured out was close to hear heart. Except he had a feeling his guilt had a lot more to do with things that had happened years ago as opposed to a few minutes ago.

"Need any help?" he asked. Elena glanced at him, then shook her head.

"No," she said. "I've got it." He still hovered, working up the courage to say something. Elena raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. She started towards the door.

"Hey, Elena?" he called out, just as she made it into the hallway. She stopped and turned around.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "For being late and for arguing with my dad. Both were unprofessional of me."

"It's okay," Elena said. "Just – be on time next time?" Damon nodded.

"Cross my heart," he said, drawing an 'x' over his chest. Elena smiled at the motion. "And, well, thank you, too. It's been a while since… Since someone was on my side." Again, Elena took a moment to study Damon before she answered. She was afraid to admit it to herself, but she still knew him exceptionally well. It hadn't taken her long to figure out there was a lot more going on with Damon than just a habit of making bad decisions.

"There are a number of people on your side," she told him. "But, you have to let them be on your side." With that, Elena disappeared down the hall, leaving Damon alone with his thoughts.

* * *

><p>Damon drew in deep breaths as he approached his car. It was shining like a brand new penny, freshly wrapped with sponsor logos and his red, black and metallic gold paint scheme. He dropped his hand on the front fender when he was close enough and let his fingers drag over the lines of the car as he walked the length of it. When he reached the spoiler, he turned around and walked back up the length of the car, his fingers still trailing along the car's lines.<p>

"She's ready to race," came Enzo's voice. Damon looked over his shoulder to see his car chief approaching.

"The crew has been putting in a lot of hours," Damon agreed. Enzo came to stand beside Damon and leaned against the car. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Damon.

"The car is ready to race," he said. "But are you?"

"Of course," Damon answered easily. "Racing is what I do."

"You sure?" Enzo countered. Damon finally looked at him.

"I've been racing since I could reach the pedals of a go-kart," he reminded him. "It's what I do. Of course I'm ready."

"Talladega was rough," Enzo started.

"Talladega was three months ago," Damon cut him off. "I'm all healed up and ready to go." Enzo knew his cue to let it go.

"That's good to know," he said. "The hauler rolls out in the morning. We'll fly down the day after tomorrow. Then, you get to drive the wheels off of this thing."

"It's what I do best," Damon agreed. He rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the tension that had settled there, along with the faint soreness he carried around with him on the left side. "I'm going to go work on the Camaro for a while."

"We lifting in the morning?" Enzo asked. Damon nodded.

"Eight o'clock," he confirmed. "Bright and early. We've got a team meeting after that."

"Look at you, keeping up with your calendar," Enzo teased. He cuffed Damon good-naturedly on his tender shoulder. Damon smiled tightly to cover up his grimace.

"Comes with the job description," he said. With a final nod of his head, he headed off in the direction of the garage bay he had claimed for his Camaro.

He managed to slip into the bay unnoticed by those busy around him. Unlike the other bays which held race cars in various stages of development, he kept the heavy door pulled down, entering through a side door. The bay had become his place to escape, to be alone, sometimes with his thoughts, sometimes without them. It was his sanctuary.

This visit, he opted to lose himself in his engine, slowly building it by hand and making it into the machine he wanted it to be. He had spent a lot of time in the bay lately, hidden away from the reality that was just on the other side of the metal wall. He avoided his modest apartment as it was too quiet, stayed away from his parents' home to keep what little peace they had managed to salvage. Stefan and Caroline's place was out as well. That left the garage and bars. Since he was supposed to stay out of trouble, he found himself at the garage with an increasing frequency.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but the noise in the shop on the other side of the wall grew quieter, eventually ceasing to a low hum as employees went home for the day. He startled when he looked up to find Stefan standing in front of him, dressed in jeans and a Salvatore Racing polo. He hadn't heard him come in, had no idea how long he had been standing there. Stefan chuckled at Damon's reaction.

"Scared much?" he asked.

"I was concentrating," Damon responded. Seated on an overturned milk crate, he looked up at Stefan. "Can I help you?"

"I saw you come in here earlier and the side door was still open so I figured you hadn't come out." His trained eye studied Damon's work as he talked. Damon resumed working, feeling as though he were being observed. "I just finished talking with Mason. We're going to pull the engine from your car and put in the prototype. I've got it in Jeff's car, but I want some more data before we decide what to run at the 500."

"You sure about that?" Damon asked. "I know this prototype of yours is supposed to be some major breakthrough in engine technology, but I would really like to know how the engine I will most likely be running in the 500 performs."

"We'll swap them out after the first day of testing," Stefan promised. "Trust me on this." Damon shrugged.

"I'm just the driver," he said, still focused on the engine in front of him. Stefan tore his eyes from the engine to Damon and studied him for a few moments. He hadn't missed Damon's frequent visits to the closed off garage bay. While they were on rocky ground these days, he still knew his brother well enough to know he liked to get his hands dirty when he had something on his mind.

"Want some help with that?" he finally asked. "Head gaskets are tricky." Damon's instinct was to tell him no, but he could use a second set of hands.

"Grab a wrench," he said, jerking his head towards the well-stocked tool chest. Stefan nodded in agreement, found the wrench he needed, and pulled up another milk crate.

"Where did you find the milk crates?" he asked Damon. They started working together in a natural rhythm that came from years of working shoulder-to-shoulder in pit stalls and grease pits. Turning wrenches and tightening bolts was one of the few things they could still manage to do together without going to war.

"I've had them for a while," Damon replied. "Grandpa used to swear there wasn't a better seat in the shop. I snagged a few back when Dad was cleaning out the old and bringing in the new when he opened the new shop."

"I miss that old backyard operation sometimes," Stefan admitted, referring to the early days of Salvatore Racing when Giuseppe had rented a small shop a few miles away and hoped to be successful as an owner once his racing career wrapped up. He laid his wrench across his knee and reached across the engine to hold a part in place for Damon to tighten bolts.

"Please," Damon scoffed. "You like the bells and whistles you've got these days. All that technology and the computer programs you spend all your time playing with."

"It's not awful," Stefan agreed. "But, you can't deny that things were simpler back when Dad had a car and a few mechanics and not much else."

"A whole lot was simpler back then," Damon muttered. He tightened the last bolt and Stefan removed his hand. "Why aren't you running home to Caroline?"

"She's out with Elena and Molly," Stefan answered, resuming his work with is wrench. "Care loves having Elena back here. And she adores Molly." He grinned a bit at Damon. "Dad said Elena put the two of you in your places earlier."

"She didn't mince words," Damon answered. He stood and went in search of another wrench. "She's changed."

"People generally do," Stefan mused.

"She's stronger, more confident."

"She's a mom," Stefan reminded Damon. "Can't imagine that's the easiest job in the world."

"Yeah, well, being a mom looks good on her." The words were out of Damon's mouth before he could take them back. He was relieved when Stefan didn't respond as he was working hard at pushing down any thoughts of Elena that weren't strictly professional out of his mind. He found the tool he was looking for and returned to his milk crate.

"You ready to get back behind the wheel?" Stefan asked.

"That seems to be the popular question of the day," Damon commented.

"You haven't been behind the wheel since Talladega," Stefan pointed out. "A lot of people are looking forward to seeing you on the track."

"People do like to watch a train wreck," Damon stated.

"I don't think 'train wreck' is the right phrase," Stefan ventured. "More like, they're curious to see how you handle being back on the track, racing again, after the crash."

"Does he succeed in finishing the race? Or does he crash and burn?" Damon said in his best television announcer's voice. "Tune in to the Daytona 500 to find out. But first, he'll have to qualify."

"You'll qualify," Stefan said with confidence.

"I want to qualify," Damon clarified. "Not get a provisional spot because Dad's got a million owner's points."

"You will," Stefan said again. He looked up just at Damon winced and rolled his shoulder before going back to work. "Shoulder still bothering you?"

"It's just stiff," Damon replied. "I'm fine." Stefan sighed.

"Damon, if you're not ready to get back behind the wheel, there's no shame in taking some more time off."

"I'm ready," Damon said with determination. "I practically shattered my shoulder, remember? I'm probably going to have some soreness there for the rest of my life."

"I'm good if you're good," Stefan said, moving to diffuse any potential arguments before they happened. They continued to work for several more minutes. Stefan waited, knowing there was something on Damon's mind. He would either talk about it or, more likely, keep it bottled up, but Stefan knew instinctively not to push. He was surprised when Damon cleared his throat.

"When I crashed at Talladega," he started, his voice gravely, "what did you think?" Stefan raised an eyebrow. He and Damon very rarely just talked and they never talked about Talladega. It was a subject that Damon had deemed largely off limits and any mention of it usually caused another round of loud, hurtful, arguments. It was Stefan's turn to clear his throat.

"What did I think?" he repeated, buying himself time to assess the situation. Damon nodded.

"What did you think?" he asked again. "In the moments after the crash, what did you think?" Stefan shook his head, trying to push images he tried to pretend he had never seen out of his head. It had been a near perfect October day, the sky blue, not a cloud to be had, the temperature just right. In the space of seconds, the day hard turned dark, and not just from the heavy black smoke that hung over the speedway.

"I thought my big brother was dead," he admitted. He swallowed hard, remembering the scene that had unfolded almost directly in front of his team's pit box, giving him a first row seat. "I didn't think there was a chance in hell you were going to walk away from that."

"If you want to be technical about it, I didn't walk away. They carted me off on a gurney in the back of an ambulance to meet the life flight helicopter." Stefan shook his head.

"You walked away," he said. "I don't know how in the hell you did it, but you managed to survive that. To be honest, Damon, if you can survive that crash, you can do just about anything."

"I got lucky," Damon said. He was already regretting bringing up Talladega. "That's all." Stefan shook his head again, knowing a hell of a lot more than luck had been on Damon's side.

"You really don't remember any of it?" he asked. Damon shook his head.

"Not really," he said. "Just the sound of crunching metal. Being airborne. And the heat from fire. That's all." He busied himself with the tool in his hand. He didn't remember much about the accident, but he did remember the days after it. He remembered the guilt. The loneliness.

Elena.

"Mom was beside herself," Stefan recalled. "She had the entire hospital jumping at her orders. And then she broke…"

"I think we've rehashed Talladega enough," Damon interrupted. He didn't need to rehash how his mother, the strongest person he knew, had finally broke down, collapsing into a chair and crying hysterically while she waited for news on her son. Stefan looked at him for a long moment and then nodded, knowing he had already pushed his luck. He checked his watch.

"I should probably get going," he said. "I didn't realize how late it was getting. Care is probably back by now." Damon wordlessly passed him a rag to wipe off his greasy hands. "You packing it up too?"

"Think I'm going to stick around for a while," Damon answered. Stefan nodded. He had suspected as much.

"Guess I'll see you tomorrow," Stefan said. He tossed the rag back in the general direction that Damon had retrieved it from.

"Guess so," Damon agreed. He waited until Stefan was gone to put down his wrench and lean forward, his elbows resting on his knees. Without regard for the fact that his hands were covered in grease, he rested his head in his hands. The pills he kept in his front pocket started to seemingly burn, now that he remembered they were there. "Dammit," he muttered, sitting up straight again.

With an extreme amount of effort, he pushed down the urge to pop the handful in his mouth and picked up his wrench.

* * *

><p><strong>NASCAR stuff: I think I've already mentioned in an earlier update, but a "Provisional" starting position in NASCAR are spots 37-43 in a 43 car field; They are for drivers who don't qualify in the time trials, but are past champions or else their team owner has enough ownership points. Damon really wants to qualify on his own. <strong>

**Other stuff - Damon isn't really an addict. He's a recreational user, more than anything. And now you know a bit more about what happened to Damon at Talladega; More to come on all of that. There's an awful lot going on with our Damon. **

**I also love this Elena. She's got a backbone, this girl. Bit of a Mama Bear. **

**Next chapter, LOTS of Damon/Molly interaction! **

**Please let me know what you think! **


	6. Tea and Snacks

**I wasn't planning to update so quickly, but you all were so excited about Damon and Molly and have been so sweet with your comments that I just had to! It's the holidays and I have a lot to be thankful for, so why not? :) **

**There is some good discussion about Damon and how he doesn't seem to have any clue that Molly is his. I think you'll see more in this update that he knows _something _but he isn't really thinking about it. He's got an awful lot going on in his head, and the idea that he might have a child? That's a really huge thing that he doesn't really have the mental space to consider, if that makes sense. He's got a few occupational fears to work through first. Once we get through Daytona though... **

**Some NASCAR vocab throughout this update - see the end for definitions!**

**Thank you so much for all of your reviews and favoriting! I love you all and hope you have the best Thanksgiving! **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Vampire Diaries.**

* * *

><p>"I think that's the last of it," Elena stated, placing a final dish in the kitchen cabinet.<p>

"Another room down, a few more to go," Ginny replied cheerfully. Elena gave her a tight smile. She adored the woman, thought of her as a second mother. But, she had forgotten how stubborn Ginny could be when she set her mind to something. And that something at the moment was unpacking every single box and re-decorating every single square inch of Elena's childhood home.

She had to admit that if it weren't for Ginny, she and Molly would still largely be living out of boxes. Ginny being Ginny, she had taken the reins and had painters in the house within days, floating in and out of Elena's office with paint samples until she made decisions on colors for every room of the house. The palette of soft grays and blues she had chosen were coming together nicely and as a bonus, Molly couldn't stop talking about her newly painted pink room.

Despite the tremendous help Ginny had been, Elena was desperate to just be still. She had hit the ground running at Salvatore Racing, attending meetings, fielding media requests, planning for the upcoming season. When she wasn't at work, she was with Molly, trying to give her daughter her undivided attention as much as possible, especially before the NASCAR season started. When Molly went to bed, she took a couple of hours to catch up on chores or reply to emails. By the time her day was done, she was exhausted and fell right to sleep. She hadn't had time to sit down and think, reflect on the last few weeks. Seeing Damon again had stirred up all sorts of thoughts and feelings she had tried to keep buried over the years. She was certain there was more going on with him than what he let on. But, more importantly, she needed to figure out how and when to tell him about Molly.

"How about I make us a cup of hot tea?" Ginny proposed. "I think we've done enough work for one day." Elena smiled gratefully.

"That would be wonderful," she said, already sliding onto the stool at her kitchen island. She had put in a long day at the office, followed by spending some time with Molly at the park and had started making dinner when Ginny had shown, piping hot meal in tow.

"How was your first week at the office?" Ginny asked as she filled a kettle with water.

"It was good," Elena answered, trying to sound nonchalant. Then she shook her head and allowed herself to grin broadly. "No, that's a lie," she admitted. "It was great. I love being back here. I love getting to see Caroline and Stefan, you and Giuseppe. And everyone at Salvatore Racing is wonderful. The drivers, the crews, my co-workers… I owe Giuseppe a huge thank you for convincing me to come back. He's going to love finding out that he's right."

"He's tickled you're back here," Ginny said. She placed the kettle on the stove, turned on the eye, and sat down across from Elena. "He told me you put him and Damon in their place when they started arguing the other day. He said you reminded him of me, actually. I was proud." Elena chuckled.

"Damon was late, I had another meeting right after that one, and I had to pick Molly up from school. I didn't have time for the two of them to tear each other apart."

"That's my girl," Ginny said with an approving nod. "And how is working with Damon?" Elena knew that was really the question she wanted to know the answer to.

"I haven't really had a lot of interaction with him," she said truthfully. "He's been polite enough, I guess."

"Sounds suspicious," Ginny muttered. The corner of Elena's mouth twitched upward.

"He has had his moments," she clarified. "He was especially suave on my first day, showing up at my door and pouring it on."

"That sounds more like him," Ginny said with a nod. The tea kettle whistled and she stood to retrieve it from the stove. She poured two mugs of hot water, added a tea bag, and re-joined Elena at the island.

"Thank you," Elena said as Ginny slid one of the mugs to her. She picked up her teabag's string and dunked it a few times in the hot water. "I'm not totally buying this bad boy persona of Damon's" she ventured. She knew she was tiptoeing into dangerous territory, but she also knew Ginny was the best option for her to discuss Damon with. She would be honest.

"Oh?" Ginny asked curiously, reaching for a jar of honey.

"He made a comment about it being a long time since someone was on his side," Elena continued. Ginny scoffed.

"That's nonsense," she said. "He's got me, his father, his brother, Caroline. His team. He's got a whole army of people on his side. He just likes to think its him against the world." Elena took the honey once Ginny finished with it.

"He has had a rough few months," Elena mused. "Scandals, probation… Talladega."

"He has had a go of it," Ginny agreed. "Some of which he brought on himself. He managed to scare me to death, of course, when he crashed at Talladega." She paused to rub a hand across her chest as though pained by the memory. "It's amazing how much you can forget and forgive when your son is lying in a hospital bed, broken and unconscious."

"What sort of injuries did he have?" Elena asked. "I know there were a lot." Ginny sighed.

"Let's see. He broke several ribs. His left shoulder was shattered and the clavicle broken. Thankfully, the doctor was able to repair his shoulder, though he will likely need a shoulder replacement down the road. He had a severe concussion, some swelling of the brain, and one of his broken ribs punctured his lung. He broke his left leg and had a number of bumps and bruises. Some of them were still fading at Christmas. I shudder to think of what would have happened if his fire suit hadn't done its job. His roof flaps certainly failed. He would have been dead for sure if he hadn't had his HANS device."

Elena reached across the table and squeezed her hand as Ginny finished cataloging Damon's long of injuries. She knew Ginny, a mother above any other role she might have, had indexed every part of the car designed to keep Damon safe, and had analyzed whether those parts had done their job.

"He's incredibly lucky to still be here," she said. "Is he really ready to go back to racing? Talladega was only three months ago." Ginny sighed into her mug.

"The doctor cleared him a couple weeks ago," she said. "He said Damon healed nicely, although I know his shoulder still bothers him. But, whether he's ready to get back behind the wheel? That I don't know. That crash, Elena… I've seen my husband crash time and time again. I've seen both of my boys plow into concrete walls going 150 miles an hour, and walk away without a scratch. But to see my baby's car, flipping end-over-end down the straightaway, sheet metal flying every direction… And then what was left of it went up in flames as soon as it came to a stop..." She shook her head to banish away the memories.

"I've seen the replays," Elena said, her voice barely a whisper. "It was terrifying."

"There isn't a word out there that describes that day," Ginny said. "I kept waiting for his window net to drop. First responders got there within moments, but his window net didn't drop. I knew it was bad when that net didn't drop. That's the signal, you know. To drop your window net to let people know you're okay. They pulled him out and I knew they were going to tell me he was dead. How he survived… God was with him. That's the only way."

"He has to be nervous about climbing back in a car," Elena mused.

"I wouldn't know," Ginny said sadly. "He doesn't talk to me past small talk and pleasantries, when I even see him, that is. I have to go to the office if I want to run into him, because he's certainly not going to stop by the house for a friendly visit. He and Stefan practically ignore one another and God knows his he and his father can't be in the same room together without a full on fireworks display."

"I wasn't watching the race the day he crashed," Elena told her, her gaze on her mug of tea. "I would usually have the race on in the background, just to keep up with what was going on in NASCAR, even though the Marcos are in different series. But that day, I took Molly to a birthday party. I got home, turned on the news, and the lead story during sports was the 'Big One' at Talladega. There's always a 'Big One' at Talladega, so I wasn't surprised. But, then I saw Damon's car and all I could think of while they were saying he was hospitalized in critical condition was that he could die without ever knowing about Molly. And that led me to wondering how I would tell Molly that her father had died." Elena stopped and drew in a shaky breath. She remembered those days after Damon's accident, waiting for news, debating on whether she should go to him or not, calling Caroline for updates.

"I thought about that too," Ginny admitted. "Sitting with him, waiting for him to wake up, I thought a lot about you and that baby. She just looks so much like Damon. I wondered if she was God's way of making losing him a little bit easier." Without warning, tears sprang to Elena's eyes. She had wondered that same thing many times over the last few years.

"I almost told him the other day," she confessed. She blew on her tea to cool it and then took a sip. "I asked him to go for a walk around the grounds of headquarters, just to make sure he could work with me. He asked about Molly and then about Molly's father. I came so close to telling him, but it didn't feel right. I didn't want to show up out of the blue and drop the news that he has a daughter on him all in one fell swoop."

"Have you considered how you're going to tell him?" Ginny asked.

"Every day for the last three years," Elena replied. "And I'm nowhere closer to an answer."

"We will figure it all out," Ginny assured her. It was her turn to reach across the table and squeeze Elena's hand. "We will deal with it as it comes."

"That's been my motto for the better part of the last four years," Elena replied. Ginny finished her tea and stood.

"It's getting late and Giuseppe is incapable of packing his own suitcase. If he's going to be wearing socks and underwear while in Daytona for the practice sessions, I need to be going. I'm going to just slip upstairs and give Molly one more kiss before I leave. I won't wake her." Elena nodded.

"Okay," she said. "Thank you, for all your help."

"Of course," Ginny said. She paused as she passed Elena to kiss her on the top of her head. "Anything for my children."

* * *

><p>Damon whistled to himself as he made his way towards the Salvatore Racing break room. He glanced at the time on his phone, making sure he still had enough time to get something to eat before he had to head to the airport to meet the Salvatore Racing jet. He rounded the corner and came to an abrupt halt. Expecting the room to be empty, he was surprised to find a small, brown headed toddler, standing precariously on the edge of a chair she had dragged to the counter. Balancing on her very tiptoes, she was reaching for snacks she still couldn't quite reach.<p>

"You supposed to be in here?" he asked. The child squeaked and turned towards his voice, looking guilty as she caught herself on the counter. He took a couple steps towards her. He had only seen her briefly, but he knew exactly who she was. "You're Molly, right?" The toddler eyed him suspiciously before she tentatively nodded. "Are you supposed to be in here?" he asked again. He didn't know a lot about kids, just that he could usually appease them by signing an autograph or posing for a picture. Somehow, he knew Molly wasn't going to fall for that sort of thing.

"I wanna snack," she answered shyly. "I hungry."

"Where's your mom?" Damon replied.

"Working."

"Did she tell you to come get a snack?" When Molly didn't reply, Damon knew she had given Elena the slip. He grinned, amused at the toddler's apparent rebellious streak. "Need some help?"

"I not reach," she told him, her fingers going to her mouth as she swished her dress back and forth with her other hand. Damon came to stand beside her and peered up at the cabinet well-stocked with snack options of a varying number of calories.

"What do you want?" he asked. Molly stared at him as though debating whether or not she should trust him. "Chips?" he prompted, scanning the options. "Popcorn? A granola bar? You probably can't have beef jerky. And your mom would be pissed if I gave you candy or cookies this early in the morning." Molly gasped.

"You say bad word!" Damon frowned.

"Did not."

"Did too," Molly nodded seriously. Damon rolled his eyes, realizing Molly deemed 'pissed' as a bad word. He figured that was Elena's doing.

"What kind of snack do you want?" he asked.

"Mama said not to talk to strangers," Molly replied.

"Too late for that," Damon replied. "You've been talking to me for the last five minutes. Besides, I'm not a stranger. You saw me the other day when Caroline dropped you off." Molly seemed to consider this for a moment before she shrugged.

"I want chips," she stated, apparently deciding Damon wasn't a stranger after all. Damon started to reach for a bag, but then reconsidered.

"How about a granola bar?" he bargained. "Your mom is kind of scary when she's mad. She won't want you to eat junk food this early in the morning."

"It's okay," Molly said sweetly. "She said I can has chips."

"Sure she did," Damon responded. The kid already had the sweet, cute thing down, but he knew Elena, or at least he did once upon a time. She probably fed Molly a well-rounded breakfast and had pre-packed healthy snacks for the day. "You eat breakfast?" he asked. Molly nodded. "What did you have?"

"Eggs, toast and milk."

"Did you eat it all?" Molly nodded again. "So, granola bar? Or…" he took another inventory of the snacks. "Pirate's Booty? Those are your only options. Take it or leave it, kid." He had no idea why he was still humoring her. It would have been far simpler to throw her over his shoulder and carry her back to her mother. Yet, here he was.

"What's Pirate's Booty?" Molly asked. Damon reached into the cabinet and removed a bag.

"This," he showed her. Her eyes lit up in recognition.

"I like that stuff!" she exclaimed, reaching for the bag. He chuckled and opened the bag for her before searching for his own snack, the whole reason he had come to the break room in the first place. Then, he would return Molly to her mother. Or, at least, finding someone who would take her back to Elena as he still wasn't sure how to interact with her outside of a conference room. He reached for a bag of Pirate's Booty of his own.

"Molly!" he whirled around at the sound of Elena's voice. She rushed into the room at a near run "What are you eating?" she demanded. She snatched the bag from Molly and quickly turned it in her hands so she could see the label. Damon frowned.

"It's Pirate's Booty," he stated. "Calm down." Elena looked at him, realizing for the first time that he was in the room. "I mean, I guess it's not the healthiest option on earth, but it's one of the best options we've got. It's basically puffed air with a little cheese flavor." Elena sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she released a breath.

"Molly, you can't run off like that," she reprimanded the child. "And you certainly can't just help yourself to snacks. How did you even know where the kitchen was, anyway?"

"Aunt Care-Line showed me," Molly answered innocently.

"Of course she did," Elena said, not surprised at all. She passed the bag of Pirate's Booty back to Molly. "If I let you have this now, you have to promise to eat your lunch."

"Promise," Molly said with a nod. Elena let her take the bag and then lifted her out of the chair. She put her down and Molly wandered towards the table to take a seat, happily eating her snack. Elena turned to Damon.

"I'm sorry," she said with a shake of her head. "It's just… She's allergic to tree nuts. She usually wears a medical bracelet, but we lost it somewhere on the drive from California and her new one hasn't come yet. I always assume the worst if I see her eating something I haven't given her myself."

"No worries," Damon said, leaning against the counter. "I'm used to people jumping to conclusions when I'm around."

"I wasn't jumping to conclusions," Elena stated. "Molly goes into anaphylaxis shock when she has nuts. It has only happened once, when she was 18 months old. I don't ever want it to happen again."

"Understandable," Damon said. He tossed a piece of his Pirate's Booty into the air and caught it in his mouth. Molly giggled, making him grin. She really was a cute kid. "I'm allergic to nuts too. I get it."

"I remember," Elena said softly. She glanced over at Molly, wondering how Damon could be so blind to the truth. Her bright blue eyes twinkling in a very similar manner to the way Damon's once did, Molly tossed a piece of Pirate's Booty into the air and tried to catch it in her mouth. It bounced off her forehead.

"She should work on that," Damon told Elena seriously. Elena rolled her eyes.

"Molly, don't play with your food," she said. She bent over to pick up the discarded puff, giving Damon a generous glance at her backside. He quickly diverted his eyes as she straightened up. "You leave for Daytona soon, don't you?" Elena asked him as she tossed the puff into the trash.

"In a couple of hours, yeah." Damon looked at her curiously. "You going?" Elena shook her head.

"Not to the practice sessions," she said. "I'm trusting you and the rest of the team can stay out of trouble for two days of practice."

"It's a tall order," Damon said seriously. "Daytona Beach and all. But, I guess we can handle it. Daddy is going. He will make sure we stick to curfew. Lights out by nine."

"Don't be crass," Elena told him. "It doesn't suit you." Damon snorted in response.

"Mama?" Molly called out.

"Yes?"

"Can I has some water, please?" she asked sweetly.

"You may," Elena agreed. "There are bottles of water in the fridge. Get one of the small ones, okay?" Molly nodded and slid off her chair.

"Thank you," she said as she passed Elena and Damon.

"Polite kid," Damon commented, watching Molly skip past them on the way to the fridge.

"She's a great little girl," Elena agreed. "Full of herself, but I guess that's to be expected." Damon looked at Elena.

"Why's that?" he inquired. Elena shook her head, realizing what she said. She had been comparing Molly to Damon. It hit her then that Damon had been alone with her – their – daughter, that after almost three years, he had finally met her, even if he was unaware of the connection.

"That's just her," she said dismissively. She leaned against the counter, feeling weak with her delayed realization.

"Why is she hanging out at headquarters today?" Damon continued curiously. "Doesn't she have school or daycare or something?"

"She has a doctor's appointment later this morning," Elena answered. "I'm taking her to school after her appointment."

"Doesn't look sick," Damon mused. The child skipped up to them and handed Elena her bottle of water to open.

"She's not. With her allergies and everything, I just wanted to get her established at a new pediatrician." Damon nodded. He assumed that was the sort of thing a good parent would do. "You haven't actually met her, have you?" Elena asked. Her stomach flipped over with nerves at the idea of officially introducing Molly to Damon, but it was, at least, a first step.

"Guess not," Damon said, realizing it was true. They hadn't had an official introduction. He recognized her and after a few moments of hesitation on her part, Molly seemed to have decided that he was okay. Elena set the water bottle down on the counter and picked up Molly.

"Molly, I want you to meet someone," she started. "This is Damon. He's one of our race car drivers." Damon glanced at Elena. So he wasn't even a friend these days. "Damon, this is my daughter, Molly." He smiled at Molly and offered her his hand. I

"Hi, Molly," he said. "It's nice to officially meet you." Molly beamed, smitten with the idea she was being treated like a grown up. She placed her tiny hand in his big one.

"Hi," Molly replied. "I'm Molly." Damon chuckled. "Do you drive fast?"

"I do," Damon said with a nod. "How about you? Do you drive fast?" Molly shook her head.

"I not drive yet," she told him, making Damon grin at how serious she was. "I'm only two."

"No Power Wheels or bicycles?" Damon inquired. Molly shook her head no again. "That's sad. Your mom should do something about that." Elena rolled her eyes.

"I want a pony," Molly piped up. "Mama said no. But Aunt Care-Line says I can maybe has one for my birthday when I'm three."

"If Aunt Caroline shows up with a pony, we are never speaking to her again," Elena informed Molly. Damon laughed. "Why don't you go finish your snack? Then we'll head back to my office so I can do a few things before we go to the doctor."

"Okay," Molly agreed, wiggling to be put down. Elena placed her on the ground and she headed back to the table.

"If Caroline shows up at her birthday party with a pony, videotape it for me," Damon requested. "I remember your temper. Hell, I saw your temper on display the other day. You could just forgo any party entertainment you had planned. You laying into Caroline would be enough."

"Caroline likes to spoil her," Elena said. "Always has. I wouldn't be altogether surprised if she did show up with a pony. Stefan will be a widower if she does." Damon laughed and reached for another bag of Pirate's Booty.

"Every kid deserves a pony," he said seriously. Elena just shook her head and reached for a granola bar, figuring she may as well join in on the mid-morning snacking.

"Are you ready to get back on the track?" she asked. She had to forge some sort of relationship with Damon. Despite their past, she was going to have to give him at least some benefit of the doubt. She had to work with him. More importantly, he was Molly's father. It was ultimately up to him as to whether or not he would be a part of Molly's life, but she was going to try and at least be cordial.

"I'm going to start charging a dollar every time someone asks me that," Damon replied. "At the rate I'm going, I'll have enough to buy lunch by noon. And it's already after ten."

"Sorry for asking," Elena retorted. She took a bite from her granola bar. Damon sighed, realizing he had hurt her feelings, if just marginally.

"I'm not trying to be a smartass," he told her. "It's just… People keep asking. I'm a race car driver. That's what I do. I'm going back to work, not going on a picnic."

"You broke half the bones in your body," Elena reminded him. "You, getting back behind the wheel, is a story, whether you want it to be or not. But, unlike some, I was asking with the expectation of a truthful answer."

"There are 206 bones in the body," Damon responded. "I broke like, eight. That's nowhere near half."

"You are such a smartass," Elena informed him. Damon grinned.

"It's a practice session, Elena," he reminded her. "There is going to be a handful of cars on the track at any given time. It's a good chance for me to get back behind the wheel, get the feel of it again, work through any nerves, shake off the cobwebs. And as a bonus, Stefan gets to test his precious prototype."

"Well, have fun," Elena said. She knew without words that Damon was more nervous than he was letting on about driving again. His body language, the stiff shoulders, the set of his jaw, gave him away. "That's what this used to be about, right?" Damon looked at Elena for a moment. She used to tell him to "have fun" and then give him a kiss right before he slid through the window of his car and strapped in for the race ahead. It had been a while since someone had told him to just have fun. He had heard "win" often, but not "have fun."

"It still is fun," Damon said. "Somewhere deep down, where there aren't sponsors and probations." Elena gave him a small smile.

"Then maybe you should find that fun again," she suggested. Damon opened his mouth to respond when Molly interrupted.

"Mama! Watch dis!" Both Elena and Damon turned towards Molly. She gleefully threw a piece of Pirate's Booty into the air. Despite her bobbing and weaving, the puff hit her nose and fell to the floor. "Damn it!" Elena gasped. Damon snorted, his hand flying to his mouth to cover up his laugh.

"Molly! Where did you hear that?" Elena demanded.

"Um, Uncle Stef," Molly answered, realizing she was in trouble. "I think."

"Uncle Stefan, you think?" Elena repeated. Molly nodded.

"He say it," she said with certainty. Damon frowned, wondering why Molly was calling Stefan her uncle. He quickly dismissed the idea, however, as Elena and Caroline had been best friends, more like sisters, practically since birth. With Caroline married to Stefan, it made sense that Molly thought of his younger brother as an uncle as she obviously thought of Caroline as an aunt. He then wondered just how often Stefan had seen Elena over the years.

"Well, I don't care who says it. It's a bad word and you don't use it, do you understand?" Elena lectured.

"Yes, Mama," Molly said with a nod. "I sorry."

"Don't say it again," Elena told her.

"I won't," Molly promised.

"Okay," Elena agreed. She crossed the room and wrapped Molly into a hug. "I love you, baby girl."

"I wuv you too, Mama," Molly replied, hugging her back. From his spot at the counter, Damon felt his chest tighten. He didn't understand it, but the scene of mother and daughter embracing hit home. Maybe, he reasoned, it was because his own relationship with his parents was so strained. At least that's what a therapist would probably tell him before charging him $300 for a half hour session.

"Come on," Elena said when she pulled away. "Let's go back to my office." Elena collected Molly's trash and headed towards the trash can. Damon pushed off the counter, an idea forming.

"Hey, Molly?" he asked. Elena stopped at the sound of Damon addressing Molly.

"What?" Molly asked, spinning around on one foot so she was looking at him, her hair flying behind her, her dress swishing with her twirl. Her blue eyes struck him once more as he squatted down to her level, a few feet from her, and plucked a puff from his second bag of Pirate's Booty.

"Open up," he directed, taking aim for her mouth. She grinned as she realized what he was doing and opened her mouth wide. "One," Damon counted. "Two. Three." On three, he gently tossed the puff. It landed easily in her mouth. Molly's eyes widened in surprised before she quickly chewed, then burst into giggles.

"Again!" she squealed, jumping up and down in place. Damon laughed and reached for another puff. Elena remained rooted in place, watching the easy interaction between the pair.

"This is my last one," he told her. "You ready?" Molly nodded and opened her mouth wide again. Damon again counted to three and tossed the puff. Once more, Molly erupted into a fit of laughter. Elena bit her lip, fighting back a wave of guilt so strong her knees threatened to buckle. Damon had no idea he was bonding with his daughter, and it was her fault. "You're a pro," Damon told her. He held up his hand for Molly to hi-five which she did with enthusiasm.

Warning bells sounded in Elena's head. It was time for her to get as far away as possible before she started spilling her guts to Damon. She felt like she was walking a tight rope, so close to telling him, but so far at the same time. With the knowledge that he was less than 24 hours away from getting back behind the wheel of a race car for the first time since his accident, she couldn't confess all to him right now. He had enough on his mind.

"Tell Damon thank you," she instructed Molly, working hard to keep her voice normal.

"Thank you, Day-mun!" Molly said happily. To Elena's surprise and clearly to Damon's, Molly launched herself forward and wrapped her small arms around his neck in a hug. Damon awkwardly hugged her back.

"You're welcome," he told her. He let her go and stood.

"Thanks for humoring her," Elena told him with a polite smile. She took Molly's hand.

"She's kind of hard not to humor," Damon replied honestly. "She's got that whole tiny and cute thing going on." Elena nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, she is pretty cute," she agreed. "Have fun at Daytona."

"I'll try to," Damon said with a nod, the faintest of smiles on his lips. "Hey, Molly?"

"Yeah?" Molly asked, bouncing on her toes.

"Work on that toss of the puffs, okay? You'll be able to catch them on your own soon."

"I will!" Molly promised with a nod.

"Bye, Damon," Elena said. There was a softness in her voice that Damon didn't miss, but also didn't understand.

"Bye, Elena," he replied. "Bye, Molly." Molly waved goodbye over her shoulder as Elena led her out the door. "Oh, and Elena?" Elena turned and looked over her shoulder. "I'll try and stay out of trouble while I'm in Daytona."

"I'd appreciate it," Elena told him. With that, she disappeared, Molly in tow. Damon crossed the room to the fridge in search of a water before he left for the airport. Even as he tried to turn his attention towards Daytona practice where it needed to be, he couldn't quite shake the image of a little blue-eyed girl who lit up when she laughed.

* * *

><p><strong>I <em>love <em>writing Damon and Molly scenes. See? He's _curious _about Molly. He's got a few pieces, namely the eyes and her nut allergy. But, he isn't putting pieces together yet. He's got to drive a car at 200mph in less than 24 hours for the first time since his accident. Big stuff for our Damon. **

**NASCAR things:**

**Safety: NASCAR cars have a number of safety devices. The roof flaps are meant to reduce the chances that a car will go airborne. The HANS device is to, simply put, hold their heads in place to prevent head and neck injuries or death. They were made mandatory after a number of drivers, including Dale Earnhardt, died from head/neck injuries sustained in crashes. **

**Window nets: Their main purpose is to keep debris out of the cockpit as drivers use the window to get in and out of their car. But, when they crash, they are instructed to lower the window net to signal they are okay. If a net doesn't come down, it's viewed as a sign that the driver is seriously injured. Damon's net didn't come down. **

**Practice: Until this year, Daytona allowed drivers to come down a few weeks before the Daytona 500 for a two day practice session. They have done away with it - and pretty much practicing in general - for the upcoming 2015 season, but for this story's purpose, we're going to Daytona to practice. **

**I think that's it. Such a long note! **

**Now we know what happened to Damon at Talladega. The how of it all comes later. Next update - Damon goes to Daytona. **

**Please, let me know what you think!**


	7. Behind The Wheel Again

**I hope you all had lovely Thanksgivings! I'm never eating turkey again... **

**I think this update will clear up a lot of questions about Damon. I know a lot of you are like "but really, Damon, how are you this dense?" Thing is, he's not. He _knows _there's something up with Molly. But, he just survived a major accident and then pushed himself through recovery so he could drive again. He's got fears to face. It's not that he's oblivious. It's that he doesn't have the bandwifth to think about it or deal with it right this second. **

**I'm going to stop rambling and let you read. Right after I say a big THANK YOU for all of your reviews and favorites! Thank you so much. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Vampire Diaries.**

* * *

><p>Damon didn't know what time it was, but it was late. He couldn't sleep, his mind racing faster than his car would be tomorrow.<p>

He had spent a lot of the last three months trying not to think about the last three months. He also made it a practice to not think about the majority of the last four years and so, he buried himself in cars, women, and debauchery. Tonight though, he couldn't keep his mind away from subjects he preferred to keep tucked in the very darkest recesses of his mind.

He hadn't been at a race track since he was life flighted from Talladega. He couldn't remember another time when he had been away from a track this long. It was never more than a week, tops, between visits, although he took an entire December off a couple years ago to bounce from tropical island to tropical island. In hindsight, he remembered very little from that trip. But with his injuries, he had spent two weeks in an Alabama hospital before being cleared to travel home where he was placed in the care of his parents.

His mother had been overbearing, his father distant, and his brother was a mere figment of his imagination, floating in and out of the living room turned ground-level bedroom for his recovery in the span of five minutes, never saying much during his very brief visits. As soon as he had been able to bear weight on his left leg, he moved into a space of his own, away from the claustrophobic Salvatore house.

Life as he knew it crumbled along with his car at Talladega. NASCAR levied a heavy fine, docked his team a significant amount of points, and put him on probation for fighting in the garage and intentional wrecking of another driver, an incident that had happened earlier in the race, before his own accident. Then, while he lay in a hospital bed recovering, the team that hired him away from his father "parted ways" with him as soon as the season ended a few weeks after Talladega. He knew his streak of having his wild nights out plastered across the internet and in tabloids was catching up with him, but he still hadn't expected a swift firing.

He had thought he was finished. Between his issues with NASCAR, his off track reputation, and the fact that he hadn't won a race since the previous season, no one was going to hire him. Once a top driver, he had "squandered his talent" as one reporter so eloquently put it, and no one wanted to take on the risks that came with Damon Salvatore as a driver. Desperate to get back on the track, he accepted his father's offer blindly, regardless of the stipulations that came along with it. He had signed his contract propped up in the hospital bed set up in his parents' living room. He complained loudly and often about Giuseppe Salvatore's many rules and expectations, but deep down, he was grateful for the chance to drive, no matter what he had to do to get the metaphorical keys.

Sitting as high up as he could go in the empty stands, he gazed out over Daytona International Speedway. Motorhomes were lined up along the infield, each housing sleeping drivers, owners, and crews. Fans were camped out nearby in everything from tents to luxury RVs that rivaled those of the drivers, just for two days of practice sessions. Lake Lloyd was still, reflecting the soft lighting from around the track. He could make out the haulers in the garage area, pick his out of the sea of colored trailers with ease. He had always loved race tracks late at night, when they were silent. It was a sharp contrast to the daytime, when engines roared and fans cheered. A quiet race track was, to him, one of the most peaceful places on earth.

He was scared.

He had felt fear before. It came with the territory of driving at high rates of speed for a living. He had been in nasty crashes, saw his friends, his family, slam into walls or get propelled across the track. He had vivid memories of watching his father go airborne, landing on his roof, and sliding across the backstretch at this very track when he was five years old. But that fear was adrenaline induced. He never had the flight response to fear. He fought it, head on. He held onto the wheel and did his best to salvage the car, stay in the race, his own personal safety be damned.

This time was different.

This time, his heart sped up and his breath became shallow and short every time he thought about getting behind the wheel.

Most of him couldn't wait to be strapped in, his hands on the wheel, his foot to the pedal. Racing was a part of him. It was in his very soul. He would never be happy on the sidelines, watching cars go by. Someday, he knew he would have to give it up, retire and focus on owning a team or being a talking head for racing broadcasts, whatever drivers did when the left the sport. But he had years of this ahead of him and he wanted to make them the best of his career. He had come close to being remembered as the driver who "squandered his talent" and died in a fiery crash. He didn't want that. He wanted to be remembered as great. Like his father.

But another part of him was paralyzed at the thought of driving again. He remembered little of the accident, but he had watched the replays. He had heard the stories. He had pushed himself through hours of physical therapy to be able to drive when the new season started. He had suffered through sometimes intolerable levels of pain. He had always known accidents like the one he had at Talladega were possible. He knew death was a potential hazard of the job. He had been a teenager, sitting on the roof of his family's motor home with Stefan, when Dale Earnhardt had crashed and died at Daytona. But his own brush with death had shook him to his very core.

He thought Elena knew. He couldn't explain it, but somehow, when she asked if he was ready to get back on the track, he knew she wasn't asking if he was looking forward to driving again or if he was recovered enough to race like everyone else. She was asking if he was mentally ready. She was the only one he had mentioned "working through the nerves" to. He knew, even though he hadn't laid eyes on her for the better part of four years, that she wouldn't see him as weak if he admitted to being nervous.

His mind wandered to Elena. They hadn't interacted much in the couple of weeks she had been at Salvatore Racing, their time spent together largely scheduled in advance and involving other members of the team. He was almost glad for that. He didn't know how to talk to her now, an odd thing to realize as once, she had been the only person, besides his brother, that he would tell everything to.

They had been cordial enough in the break room that morning. Even with their limited interaction, he knew the attraction was still there, at least on his part. It was a different kind of attraction with Elena, something that was natural and deep. He wasn't drawn to her because she was beautiful or sexy or blonde or whatever criteria he had gone with in the past. He was pulled towards her because she was _her. _She was Elena.

He had thought he had managed to move on, put her in the past. Occasionally over the years, after he was extremely drunk and before he either found someone to take home or passed out, he would think of her, berate himself for the mistakes he made. Only recently had he started to think of her more often. A song she used to like would come on the radio. He had ordered Pad Thai for the umpteenth time just before Christmas and suddenly remembered she liked hers at a two on the one through five spice meter. A woman had walked by in high heels and instead of taking in the sway of her hips, Damon had recalled how Elena would wear heels at the track on race day, no matter how impractical, just because she liked how they looked. And then, as if by magic, she was there again, in Mystic Falls. He had been sitting in a corner booth at the local coffee shop earlier in the week when she came in and placed a to go order. She still took her coffee the same way.

She was different, though. He had noticed almost right away that she was far more confident, much more comfortable in her own skin. She stood up for herself, didn't back down when she felt she was right or wanted to get her point across. She was a mother now, a role that agreed with her more than any job in a marketing department ever would. He was an outsider looking in now, but he knew she was meant to be a mother. Molly had no idea how lucky she was to have Elena as her mother.

Molly.

He couldn't help but be curious about the little girl. He was initially surprised to learn Elena had a daughter. He had considered the possibility – and considered it probable – that Elena had moved on, was married or at least in a serious relationship. He had never considered the possibility that she would have a child. But, that morning, in the break room, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world, that Molly would belong to Elena. She was a beautiful little girl. She didn't exactly look like Elena, save for her hair color, but she reminded him of Elena all the same.

He had felt a deep protectiveness over Molly when he walked into the break room and saw her teetering precariously on her tiptoes as she reached for a snack. Instinct alone had sent him across the room to her aid. She had been shy at first, but when she warmed up to him, she had proven to be smart, inquisitive, just as he would have expected any child of Elena's to be. When Elena had hugged her after correcting her, the tender moment between mother and daughter had tugged at his heartstrings. He didn't want to admit to himself that it had been accompanied by a thought of "what could have been."

His gut told him there was more to Molly. He knew Elena, or at least, he had known her once. She wasn't the one night stand kind of girl. He had chased after her for months before she would even go to dinner with him. They had dated for three months before she allowed him to make love to her. There was no way Molly was the product of a one night stand. Elena had even told him as much. The child had told him she was two. She had mentioned a third birthday party, but whether that birthday was next week or months from now, he didn't know. He didn't know why it mattered to him, but he did know that she had very blue eyes, was allergic to nuts, and whenever she turned three, she wanted a pony.

Whatever it was about Molly, he had to push her out of his mind, at least for now. Talladega had happened three months ago – three months, one week, and two days, if anyone was counting. In the days after he came to in the hospital, while his head was throbbing and his vision as blurry as his memories of the accident, and later, during the countless hours of physical therapy, when his body was screaming in pain, the crash had seemed like a lifetime ago. Now, back at a race track, hours before he was in the cockpit again, it was like Talladega happened yesterday. He didn't remember the accident, but he swore he could smell the gasoline and smoke, the carbon dioxide from the fire extinguishers. He needed to focus on the task at hand – driving – before he could focus on Elena, Molly, or his family.

He sighed and rubbed his hand roughly over his face. He could feel his heart pounding, his anxiety rising. He couldn't stop the barrage of thoughts and fragmented memories of Talladega now that he had unlocked the vault he tried to keep them in. Whether he wanted to think about her or not, Elena was a part of those Talladega memories, and the ones that featured her hit him now.

He had never told a soul that Elena's face was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes three days after the accident. He knew his family was there. He had heard them talking to him and around him when the meds keeping him unconscious started to wear off. But, somewhere in that state between consciousness and unconsciousness, it had been Elena he thought of. Elena he wanted. In the wee hours of the morning as his eyes had finally opened, he had seen Elena's face above him. It had faded away as he adjusted to being awake until only the browns of her pupils hung above him and he knew she was no more than an illusion.

For several days, he clung to the finest thread of hope that Elena would show up at the hospital. He knew he wasn't living in a movie, but with nothing else to hold on to, he hoped she would hear about his accident and rush to his side. She never came. If she had, Damon had no idea what he would have said. There wasn't exactly a Hallmark card that made up for walking out on a relationship without so much as a backwards glance. That hadn't stopped him from hoping until he finally accepted she wasn't coming.

With a heavy sigh, he roughly rubbed a hand over his face again. He had screwed up so many times in so many different ways over the last four years – five, if he counted the year that led up to his lapse in judgment – that he didn't know where to begin to right his wrongs and get his life back on track. He was a big enough man to admit that was why he kept screwing up. He didn't know how to fix things, so he just kept doing what everyone expected of him – all the wrong things.

He had to eventually figure out his life. But right now, in this moment, he had to focus on driving. He couldn't think about Elena, Molly, or his strained relationship with his family. He had to push through his fears, swallow down his nerves, and drive. Driving was the only thing he could control.

Driving was the only thing he had.

* * *

><p>Damon eyed his black, red and gold car as he approached it. It was a beautiful piece of machinery, powerful and graceful at the same time. He felt his heart pounding, could feel the blood rushing through his veins. He pulled in air through his nose and blew it out through his mouth in an effort to stay calm.<p>

_It's just a car,_ he told himself. _It's just a car. You have drove one of these at least a thousand times. It's just a car. That's it. Just a car. _

"You ready to roll, cowboy?"

Damon turned to find Ric, his spotter and one of the few people he considered a friend, standing behind him.

"Ready as I'll ever be," he replied. Ric nodded and walked up to Damon. He slapped his shoulder.

"You've got this," he told him. "It's just a car." Damon grinned ever so slightly.

"It's just a car," he repeated. Ric nodded again.

"You're going to be fine," he said in a low voice. He knew Damon was nervous, understandably so. "I'm going to get up to my post. You put on a helmet and get ready to drive the hell out of that thing. Maybe blow up that God forsaken prototype of Stefan's while you're at it. I'm sick and tired of hearing about the damn thing." Damon chuckled in earnest then.

"Thanks, Ric," he said with a nod. Ric just winked at him, knowing the thanks was for more than a few encouraging words, and turned back in the direction he had come from.

"Damon! A word?" Damon sighed as a reporter, trailed by a cameraman, hurried towards him. He had to talk to the press. It was a part of the job description. But today, just for today, he really wanted to focus on the relatively simple act of getting behind the wheel. Still, he took one more deep breath, put on a smile, and greeted the report.

"Skip, good to see you again," he said, reaching out his hand to shake the reporter's. Skip Burton was a staple on the NASCAR circuit. While other reports came and went, he was a mainstay, even if he did hop from network to network with each offer of a salary increase. The middle-aged man shook his hand firmly in return.

"Good to see me? How about good to see you? Standing on your own two feet, not a cast or even a bruise in sight. You gave us quite the scare at Talladega, young man." Damon glanced over Skip's shoulder to find the little red light that confirmed they were already recording.

"It's good to be back at the track," he responded in a perfectly media trained manner. "I'm looking forward to these practice sessions."

"You're all healed up?" Skip pushed. "No residual injuries?"

"All healed up," Damon confirmed. "Broken bones have mended, cuts and bruises have faded away. I was cleared by my doctor a few weeks ago. I don't think I've ever gone so long without being at the track."

"What's it like being back at Salvatore Racing?" Skip continued.

"It's great," Damon said automatically. He could lie with the best of them. "It's good to be back with my family after all these years. We've got a great team assembled. My Ragged Mountain Chevy is coming along nicely. These training sessions will help us dial it in for Daytona in a few weeks."

"Speaking of Daytona…" Damon bit the inside of his lip. "You left Mickelson Motor Sports abruptly. How will it be racing alongside the Mickelson brothers as a competitor instead of a teammate?"

"We're always competitors," Damon answered. "Even when we were teammates, we were still competitors. There's only one winner. Other than the fact that we're driving for separate teams now, there's really no difference." There wasn't. The Mickelsons had always been fierce competitors. Headquartered in Daytona, the team also had an operation in Mystic Falls, the heart of auto racing, which mean he still saw plenty of them. They were usually involved in his drunken nights out in and around the small town.

"You're on probation for Talladega," Skip pressed. "Thoughts on that? Do you think the punishment is fair? What about the fine? Some say you got off too easily, given some of your off track antics."

"I made a mistake at Talladega," Damon said. He had rehearsed an answer to this question from the very moment he signed a contract with his father that would allow him to drive again. "It's not something that will happen again."

"But why intentionally wreck Matt Donovan? There were rumors about you and his sister…"

"Is this a report on Daytona practice, or a gossip column?" Giuseppe Salvatore appeared out of nowhere. Damon found he was actually relieved to see him.

"Giuseppe! Great to see you," Skip greeted, offering his hand. "We were just discussing Damon's return to Salvatore Racing." Giuseppe shook the man's hand although Damon could feel the disdain his father had for Skip from where he stood.

"We're pleased to have him back," Giuseppe answered evenly. "But I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal him away. He's got a car to drive."

"Of course," Skip said with a nod. "Perhaps we'll talk later, then? I hear the younger Salvatore brother has been working on a prototype engine that could revolutionize the world of auto racing."

"We will perhaps talk about that later," Giuseppe answered. "Come on, Damon." Damon nodded politely at Skip and his cameraman and headed off with his father. "I would prefer it if you don't talk to the press this weekend," Giuseppe told him in an undertone. "With everything going on surrounding your return to the track, I would like Elena to be on the premises before you speak with the media."

"You know those things quarterbacks wear on their wrists that they can reference for play calling?" Damon replied. Giuseppe looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Think we can get one of those made in fire retardant material? I'd like to be able to wear one. Except instead of having plays, it would have all of your rules listed out. It's getting hard to keep up with all the additions."

"Don't be crass," Giuseppe replied sternly. "Elena has told you she is working on your public image. Talking to the media, especially Skip Burton, without her around to intervene if needed, isn't part of her plan."

"If the arm band doesn't work, maybe I can just wear an earpiece at all times," Damon continued, ignoring his father, even if he knew he was right. "Just record your rules and we can let them replay in my ear over and over again. Maybe they will all sink in while I sleep."

"Enough," Giuseppe warned. "Just – stay away from the press this outing, okay?"

"Whatever you say," Damon stated. Giuseppe sighed. Damon didn't understand that he was trying to help him, protect him. He knew Damon was nervous about driving, even if he would die before would admit it. He didn't need the pressure of media and interviews added to what he was already feeling.

"Are you sure you're ready to drive again?" he asked Damon. "No smart ass responses. Answer me honestly. Are you ready to drive again?" Damon sighed. That was as close to showing any concern as his father was going to get.

"I'm ready to drive again," he said with confidence. "I need to drive again." Giuseppe nodded once. He understood more than Damon thought he did about the need to get back behind the wheel.

"Let's get to it then," he said. Damon blew out a breath.

"Let's get to it," he echoed.

* * *

><p>With a deep breath, Damon slipped through the window of his car. He settled into the seat, made precisely to fit his body, and as soon as he leaned back against the headrest, knew something was wrong.<p>

"What the hell?" he muttered, reaching up over his left shoulder. He instantly felt the extra padding in the seat. "Mason!" he called out.

"Yeah, boss?" Mason, his crew chief, appeared in his window.

"What the hell did you do to my seat?" Damon asked. "There is at least three inches of extra padding on the left side."

"It's an attachment," Mason explained. "Your dad recommended it. Extra padding for your shoulder. Stefan said he thought your shoulder was bothering you, so Giuseppe told us to try and make the seat a little more comfortable for you."

"It's not supposed to be comfortable," Damon retorted. He reached over his shoulder again, felt around for where the extra padding attached, and pulled until it came loose. "Here," he said, passing it through the window to Mason.

"You sure you don't want to give it a shot?" Mason asked. "You're going to get jerked around a fair amount. This will keep your shoulder from bouncing around as much."

"I've been in a car a time or two," Damon argued back. "I'm aware of how much I'm going to bounce around. I'm fine. My shoulder is fine. I don't want the extra padding." Mason nodded, knowing it was no use in arguing with Damon, at least on this.

"Alright, then," he agreed. He knocked his hand against the frame of the window twice. "Let's get you strapped in."

"First thing anyone has said this morning that makes any sense," Damon muttered. With the help of his crew, they set to work, tightening harnesses and attaching ventilation tubes. Mason helped him with his HANS device while he worked to pull on his gloves.

"All set," Mason said a few minutes later. "We'll roll out in a few minutes." Damon nodded as best he could now that he was strapped in.

"Test the radio?" he asked. Mason signaled to the pit box.

"How's the Chevy?" came Enzo's voice through his helmet.

"American made," Damon replied back. Enzo chuckled.

"Good deal," he said. "Do me a favor?"

"I'll consider it."

"Blow up that damn prototype. I'm sick of hearing about it." Damon laughed in earnest. While everyone at Salvatore Racing, himself included, knew Stefan had hit on something major, they were all tired of his constant monologue about intakes and fuel injections.

"I already promised Ric I would do my best," he said.

"That's my guy," Enzo replied. There was a pause. "Looks like you're up." Damon didn't reply. He took another deep breath and waited for Mason's voice to tell him to start his engine.

"Fire it up," Mason said through the radio.

If he was nervous before, it was nothing compared to how he felt as the car roared to life with a couple flips of switches. _You're fine, _he told himself. _It's just a car. _He heard Elena's voice telling him to have fun. He blew out yet another breath, lowered the visor on his helmet, and eased his foot on the gas. The car started to move forward. He could do this.

It was just a car.

* * *

><p>That night, he found himself belly up to one of his favorite Daytona bars. He wore a baseball cap this time, taking precautions to blend in. There were a number of race fans in town and many of them knew this place was a favorite hangout of drivers, even if it was one drivers considered off the beaten path. He sipped his beer, trying to relax after a tense day.<p>

He had made it. He had drove around and around Daytona's track without incident. He had drafted with his teammates, passed other cars, given Stefan a mountain of data for his prototype, and avoided the media. The only thing he hadn't fully managed to do was blow up the prototype, despite his best efforts.

Best of all, he couldn't wait to do it again tomorrow.

And then, he would start worrying all over again as the days to the Daytona 500 ticked down. Practice sessions were one thing. Racing for real was another.

"Well, well, well," came a voice that made Damon groan. "Look who we have here." A tall, buxom woman with dirty blonde stood before him, her green eyes full of no good.

"Vicki," Damon said in a neutral tone. He turned back to his beer, determined to ignore her.

"I certainly didn't think we would see you around here," she continued. "Between all those broken bones and the whole probation thing, who would have thought someone would give you the keys to their car this season? Of course, not all of us are fortunate enough to have a big shot daddy to bail us out."

"There are no keys," Damon mumbled, still working to ignore her.

"You must have really hit your head hard," Vicki said. "It's like you haven't noticed that I'm standing right in front of you." She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. "We both know you don't usually ignore me."

"We both know you shouldn't be talking to me," Damon said. There was more venom in his voice than he would usually use with a woman, but Vicki wasn't just anyone.

"Worried my brother might get wind of it?" Vicki asked. "Because in case you didn't know, Matt is right over there." She tilted her head towards a darkened corner of the bar where Matt Donovan was holding court with a few of his team members and Sprint Cup girls. He caught Damon looking in his direction and smirked, winking at him. Damon sighed and tuned back to his beer.

"You are trying to stir up trouble," Damon said. "I'm just trying to enjoy a beer before I call it a night."

"Like you're going to call it a night after just one beer," Vicki said, her voice sultry. She leaned in suggestively. "Or, we could both call it a night right now." Before Damon could stop her, she had her lips on his. Instinctively, he pushed her away. He had barely managed to remove her lips from his before Matt showed up.

"Get your hands off my sister!" he exclaimed, grabbing Damon off of his seat by the collar of his shirt. Damon fought his first instinct to react, to shove Matt off him like he wanted to. Thinking of his promise to Elena to stay out of trouble along with his father's many stipulations, he put his hands up in surrender.

"I'm not doing anything," he said firmly. "She came on to me. I told her I wasn't interested. Just let me go and go back to whatever it was you were doing."

"Give me a break," Matt spat, tightening his grip on Damon. "You were all over her. You don't give a damn about her. You just want in her pants."

"Let me go, Matt," Damon said, working hard to keep his voice down and his temper under control. "Neither one of us can afford to get into any more trouble." Matt smirked.

"Only one of us is on probation," he reminded Damon. "And only one of us had to go to daddy just to get a ride this season."

"Hey!" the bartender called, his attention drawn to what was going on at the other end of his bar. "You two! Knock it off!"

"Let me go," Damon said again, careful to keep his hands off Matt although the desire to hit him was strong.

"Go on," Matt coaxed. "Hit me. You know you want to."

"I do," Damon confirmed. "But I won't."

"What's the matter?" Matt asked, tightening his grip even more, to a point where it was uncomfortable for Damon. He struggled against his grip. "Lost your nerve in that accident? Or are the rumors about daddy having you on a tight leash true?"

"Break it up!" Stefan appeared out of nowhere and stepped between the two, causing Matt to let go of Damon's collar. Damon reached up and massaged his neckline. "Go back to your friends, Matt," Stefan directed with authority.

"Baby brother saves the day," Matt said with a smirk. He nodded at Damon. "No worries though. We'll settle it on the track." He glanced at his sister. "Come on, Vic," he added. "You know you can do better than a washed up Salvatore." Damon and Stefan watched him walk away. Damon reached into his pocket, dug out his wallet, and threw enough cash down to cover his beer and a tip. Without a word to Stefan, he turned and walked out of the bar.

"Damon!" Stefan called after him. Damon kept walking. "Damon!" Damon heard Stefan's footsteps speeding up. Moments later, he was at Damon's side, keeping pace. "What was that all about?"

"Matt's an asshole," Damon informed him. "And his sister isn't much better."

"You handled it well," Stefan told him. "When I walked in, I expected to see you swing."

"I wanted to," Damon said. He continued walking faster than was necessary, filled with adrenaline. "I really, really wanted to. He's an asshole."

"He is," Stefan agreed. "Always has been, ever since we were racing him in Go-Karts. He's not as good of a driver as you and he knows it. He gets by on fan popularity more than his finishes. He was trying to get a rise out of you and he will continue to try and get a rise out of you until either he does or he gets bored. Just leave it alone, okay?"

"Isn't that what I did?" Damon countered. He did the right thing for a change, and he wanted someone to acknowledge it.

"You did the right thing," Stefan assured him, as though he were reading his mind.

"Dad won't see it that way. I saw the flashes. I know people took photos. Someone probably videoed it. It's probably already all over the internet. It won't matter that I didn't start it. It won't matter that I didn't react. It will matter that I was there and that once again, my name is associated with, what does Dad call it?, 'poor decision making.' Story of my life."

Stefan didn't respond right away as they kept walking, destination unknown, at least to him as it seemed Damon had somewhere in mind. He and his brother hadn't been on the best terms for a long time. They used to be inseparable, best friends and teammates, as well as brothers. When Damon drove for Salvatore Racing in the Nationwide Series, Stefan had been his crew chief. The two knew each other so well they didn't have to communicate in full sentences. Damon trusted him blindly. Together, with Enzo as car chief and Ric as spotter, they won races, championships.

The last four years had been hard for the Salvatore family. They had won a number of races, had a few championships. But outside of racing, as a family, they were in shambles. They did their best, Giuseppe and Ginny, Stefan and Caroline, to function as a family unit. But with Damon disowning them and Elena and Molly on the west coast, Damon completely unaware of Molly's existence, they were barely keeping up the guise. Damon's always empty seat at Tuesday evening's family dinners spoke loudly, mocking them.

Damon's accident brought them back together in a patchwork sort of way. If nothing else, it had gotten Damon back in Mystic Falls and back on the Salvatore Racing roster. Giuseppe believed it was a step forward. Ginny looked at it as a chance to get her son back. Stefan saw it for what it was. Damon needed them. He needed his family. He either didn't know it yet, or maybe hadn't accept it yet, and Stefan knew him well enough to know there was nothing anyone else could do until Damon figured it out for himself.

But what Stefan had seen from Damon in the last few minutes was different. Damon was genuinely upset about the situation with Matt. He was upset about the fact that he would likely be the talk NASCAR again tomorrow, once again for something besides his on track success. Damon's devil may care attitude had waned that evening and Stefan was surprised. Before his accident, Damon would have either slipped off with Vicki the second she made an advance or else took a swing at Matt without much provoking. It was the smallest of baby steps, but Stefan couldn't help but hope it was a step in the right direction.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Stefan finally spoke. "I'll vouch for you. We will handle it. Just – maybe stay out of bars for the rest of the weekend."

"God forbid I have any fun," Damon muttered, still walking.

"Where are we going anyway?" Stefan asked. Damon glanced at him.

"I'm going back to the track," he stated. "Where are you going?"

"I guess I'm going back to the track," Stefan replied. He too had walked to the bar in search of something to eat and a beer.

"Good for you," Damon responded. They continued in silence for a few minutes, Daytona growing ever bigger as they approached. Without warning, Damon let out a groan. "Elena's going to kill me," he stated.

"Elena?" Stefan questioned.

"I told her I wouldn't get into trouble," he said. "The season hasn't even started, and I'm already going to be plastered across the media for something besides my grand return to the track."

"You didn't actually get into trouble," Stefan reminded him. "You didn't do anything. Matt instigated it, you didn't take the bait."

"Still, she's going to have to clean up after me," Damon said with a sigh. He reached into his jacket pocket for his phone. "Do you have her number? I'm going to call her and let her know. I'd rather her hear it from me." Stefan tried to hide his disbelief at the level of responsibility for his actions Damon was suddenly showing.

"It's after eleven," he told Damon. "I'm sure she's in bed by now. If she's not, Molly surely is. You don't want to wake her up for something that isn't an emergency." Damon sighed, realizing Stefan was right.

"I guess not," he agreed. "But do you have her number? I'll call her first thing in the morning. Hopefully before she checks her email." Stefan nodded and retrieved his own phone. He found Elena's number and texted it to Damon.

"How is it, having her back here?" he asked as he pocketed his phone again. Damon shrugged.

"I haven't seen her much," he said honestly. "Her kid is pretty cute. Seems like Elena is a good mom."

"Not really surprising though, is it? That she took to being a mom, I mean? Elena always was the caregiver." Damon just nodded in agreement. There was something else on his mind.

"Molly calls you Uncle Stefan," he mentioned. It was something else to add to his list of things to ponder about Molly once he had the Daytona 500 behind him.

"She does," Stefan said carefully, now on his guard. The pieces were all right there in front of Damon. He just had to put them together. "Technically, she calls me Uncle Stef."

"Why's that?" Damon continued. They reached the entrance of Daytona, showed their IDs, and a guard allowed them to pass. "I'm assuming because of Caroline?" Stefan nodded.

"Just because you stopped speaking to Elena, doesn't mean the rest of us did," he said carefully. Damon gave him a look, but didn't seem surprised by his answer.

"Guess not," he finally said. He had spent the better part of the last four years not speaking to his family. It shouldn't have surprised him that Stefan remained in contact with Elena. They had always had a strictly platonic friendship that had been more like that of brother and sister. He assumed it was a safe bet his parents had remained in contact with her as well. They had loved her like daughter. "Do me a favor?" Damon asked as they reached their respective motor homes.

"We'll see," Stefan replied skeptically. He had long ago learned not to blindly agree to anything where Damon was concerned.

"If Giuseppe asks, stick up for me for a change?" Damon requested. The skepticism was clear in his voice.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Stefan reminded him again. "I'll tell Dad what happened."

"You always do," Damon stated. He tipped a fake hat to Stefan, keyed in the entry code to his motor home, and left Stefan standing in the infield.

* * *

><p><strong>So, Damon definitely knows he needs to think more about Molly. But, he's compartmentalized her - and Elena - to get through Daytona's practice session and, a few weeks after practice, the actual Daytona 500. Practice sessions are a lot different from the actual race. Damon can practice all day long, but it won't simulate what it'll actually be like to be back in a racing environment. <strong>

**There's a lot going on with Damon. He's actually become quite complicated to write. (Which makes it fun!)**

**NASCAR stuff: **

**- Until this upcoming season, drivers practiced/tested at Daytona about 3 weeks before the actual Daytona 500. Now that practice is over, they will shift their focus to the actual race. **

**- Ric is Damon's spotter - he has a perch high above the track and radios information to Damon about what's going on around him. **

**- Intentional wrecking is a thing. There was some debate recently on what defines it and as it turns out, it appears to be at NASCAR's discretion. They get to decide if that nudge of a driver's bumper was "just racing" or an act of wrecking another driver on purpose. Damon and Matt had a "thing" before his accident at Talladega.  
><strong>

**I think that's it. I would LOVE to know what you think!**


	8. Early Morning Phone Calls

**I feel like I can't write this story fast enough. I have a number of updates finished already and the amount of times I've fallen asleep writing is astounding. There is just so much going on with all of these characters and they are all so complex and I'm just really loving how things are unfolding. WHEW. See? Excited. **

**Thank you so much for your responses to the last chapter! I'm so glad you're loving this! **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Vampire Diaries.**

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><p>Ginny couldn't wipe the smile off her face as Elena wiped chocolate from Molly's face. The toddler had thoroughly enjoyed a slice of chocolate cake, but Ginny felt sure she had enjoyed having Molly in her home to eat it even more.<p>

"Can I get down now?" Molly asked Elena, squirming in her seat.

"You may," Elena confirmed with a nod. She helped Molly out of her chair and smiled as the toddler made a beeline for the toys she had been forced to abandon when dinner was ready. "Thank you so much for dinner, Ginny. It was absolutely delicious."

"It's so nice to have the two of you here," Ginny said in response. "I have waited so long to hear the sound of Molly's footsteps on my hardwood floors." Elena gave her a smile tinged with sadness. She knew Ginny struggled the most with Damon's self-imposed exile and the fact that he was unaware of Molly. To Ginny, a mother to her very core, the coast-to-coast distance between her and her granddaughter while her son was 800 miles away and refusing to speak to her was heart wrenching.

"She seems to be adjusting well," Elena said, glancing over her shoulder at Molly who was happily playing with a princess play set. "Her teacher said she's doing really well with her classwork and that she's sociable, outgoing. She adores getting to see Caroline so much and Stefan too, of course. Then there's there fact that her Gigi and Nonno are spoiling her rotten. I was worried that moving would be hard on her. She's only ever known San Bernardino. My parents, her school there, her friends… I uprooted her whole life. I knew I was bringing her to a place full of people that love her, but I have no idea what I'm doing as a mother half the time." Ginny smiled.

"I'll go ahead and let you in on a secret about motherhood," she said. "Even when Molly is in her late twenties and you've got her out of the house, you are still not going to know what you are doing as a mother. Giuseppe and I ask ourselves nearly daily where we went wrong." Elena played with the cloth napkin she had placed in her lap when they started to eat dinner. She glanced at Molly again to make sure she was occupied.

"I have no idea how I'm going to tell Damon about her," she confessed. "But, I also have no idea how I'm going to tell her about Damon."

"She's three, or almost three," Ginny reminded her gently. "When you do decide to tell her, just keep it simple. Molly will understand."

"I hope so," Elena said with a shake of her head. "She's been asking questions about her daddy lately."

"She has?" Ginny inquired, unable to hide the note of surprise in her voice.

"A girl in her class has told her she doesn't have a dad because he doesn't live with her. I hated that conversation with Molly."

"What do you tell her about her father?" Ginny asked curiously.

"I tell her father her father loves her, even if he isn't with her. Regardless of how I feel about Damon, I don't ever want Molly to think her father doesn't love her. If I can help it, I don't want her to feel like he doesn't want her, either, no matter how Damon reacts when he finds out she's his."

"That child will never feel like she isn't wanted," Ginny said with certainty. Elena reached across the table and rested her hand on Ginny's.

"Thank you," she told Ginny. "For everything, both since I moved back and over the last few years. I know it hasn't been easy, lying to Damon, visiting when you could, relying on Facetime and phone conversations to stay close. I know how much you and Giuseppe, as well as Caroline and Stefan, have sacrificed for Molly and I." Ginny shook her head.

"You don't have to thank us," she said. "We told you from the day you told us you were pregnant that we would be there for you and your child. Not telling Damon… We tried. All of us did. The harder he worked to keep us out of his life, the easier it got to keep it from him. Being a whole country away from the two of you was hard, but we made do with our visits and video chats and all the photos and videos you sent us. Elena, dear, no matter where things stand with you and Damon, you and Molly are our family, too. I hope you know that."

"I do know that," Elena said, squeezing Ginny's hand. "But still, thank you for everything." She took her hand away and reached for what was left of her glass of wine. "Have you talked to Giuseppe about how the first day of practice went?" She was curious, particularly, about how Damon did behind the wheel.

"I talked to him briefly, just before the two of you got here. He said everything went well. He did ask Damon not to talk to media, but other than that, it seems like it was a pretty smooth day."

"Damon did okay with getting back behind the wheel?"

"Giuseppe said he thought he was nervous, especially for the first few laps around, but he seemed to settle in as the session went on."

"Daytona will be the real test," Elena said, more to herself than to Ginny. Still, Ginny nodded.

"There's a world of difference between practice sessions and racing." Elena could tell Ginny was nervous at the mere thought of Damon racing again.

"Damon will be okay," she told her with confidence. "Once the green flag drops, he will be right back where he belongs."

"I hope so," Ginny said with a sigh. "God help us all if he crashes at Daytona." Neither of them said anything. Talladega was notorious for big crashes, but so was Daytona. Elena hadn't considered the idea of what it would do to Damon's head if he crashed in his first race back. She sent up a quick, silent prayer that he wouldn't.

"Mama?" Molly called.

"Yes?" Elena turned to find Molly standing in the middle of the living room, bouncing up and down in place. She knew exactly what her daughter wanted and was already starting to stand as Molly answered.

"I gotta go to the potty," she announced.

"Right this way," Elena directed, taking Molly by the hand and leading her down a hallway. Ginny smiled at their retreating backs. She had her girls back. And she wasn't going to lose them again.

* * *

><p>Elena groaned as the sound of her phone ringing broke through the night. She tried to ignore it, but it was incessant, vibrating across the nightstand as the upbeat jingle continued. She had just made up her mind to answer it when it stopped. Sighing, she laid her head back down. The phone started ringing once more. She groped in the dark for the phone and didn't bother to look at the display as she slid her finger across it to answer.<p>

"Lo?" she asked sleepily.

"Elena?" came a familiar voice.

"Damon?" Elena was alert now, sitting upright in bed. She reached over and turned on her bedside lamp. "It's barely 6AM. Is something wrong?"

"I'm sorry for calling so early," Damon answered. "I just… Well, I wanted… Nothing is wrong, exactly, but I just wanted you to hear it from me…" Elena was fully awake now.

"Wanted me to hear what?" she demanded, an extensive list of possibilities already forming in her mind.

"It's nothing, really," Damon backpedaled. On his end of the phone, he ran his hand through his hair, suddenly nervous. "I mean, I didn't do anything wrong. Stefan was there. He'll vouch for me. Or, at least he said it would. Who really knows with him?"

"Damon, what happened?" Elena asked in a tone that was all business. Damon sighed.

"I went to a bar last night," he started.

"Damon…," Elena sighed. She couldn't dictate that he stay out of bars and night clubs, but she wished he had the good sense to keep his distance, at least for now.

"Just, listen, okay?" Damon asked. Elena furrowed her brow. There was a sense of desperation in Damon's voice that was so faint it would have been missed by anyone else. She still knew him too well, however. "I went to a bar near the track. I just wanted a beer after the first day of practice. Just one. I was sitting at the bar, minding my own business, when Vicki Donovan walked up."

"Matt's sister," Elena stated, already dreading where this was going.

"Yeah," Damon agreed. "She came up to me, started hitting on me. I told her to leave me alone. She didn't. Next thing I knew, Matt was jerking me off my stool and warning me to stay away from his sister. I didn't put my hands on him. I didn't take the bait. Stefan showed up and broke everything up. I didn't do anything, Elena. But there were cameras there. I saw the flashes. There are probably videos and photos on the internet. I know it's early, but I wanted to tell you before you found out some other way."

Elena sighed and rubbed her temple with her free hand. "Hang on," she said. Keeping the phone to her ear, she retrieved her iPad from where Molly had left it in an armchair and returned to her bed. Keying in her passcode, she quickly opened and scanned her email. Sure enough, the Google alerts she had set up with Damon's name had populated her inbox overnight. Most of them were reporting on his practice session, but it didn't take her long to find one that read 'Damon Salvatore and Matt Donovan Moments From Brawl Before Crew Chief Intervenes.' She skimmed the article and then opened the accompanying photo gallery. Every single photo showed Damon with his hands held away from Matt.

"How much trouble am I in?" Damon asked. "I haven't looked to see how the press spun it."

"I think we're going to be okay," Elena answered, clicking on another link. "You're clearly not fighting back in these photos. Hold on, this one has a video." She put her phone down and watched the short clip. She could hear Damon telling Matt to let go of him several times before Stefan arrived and broke them up. She picked the phone back up. "Matt Donovan is a jackass," she stated. Damon chuckled despite everything.

"He is," he agreed. "I'm telling you that in confidence, of course."

"Of course," Elena agreed. She opened a web browser and Googled Damon's name. She found a few more stories about Damon and Matt mixed in with practice reports, but nothing detrimental. "I will smooth things over when I get into the office in a couple of hours. I was planning on releasing some updates from day one of practice so that should push down these stories about you and Matt. I'll monitor it, but I think if we ignore it, it should go away, no harm, no foul."

"You sure?" Damon asked.

"I'm sure," Elena confirmed. "Thanks for giving me the heads up."

"I'm sorry it's so early," Damon said again. "I know I woke you up." A thought occurred to him. "I didn't wake up Molly, did I?"

"No, she's still sleeping like a rock down the hall," she answered, glancing at the video monitor she kept in her room. She couldn't quite let go of being able to glance at a video screen and know her baby was safe. "I'm glad you called and told me, Damon."

"Giuseppe isn't going to be pleased," he replied.

"I'll talk to him," Elena promised. "Reassure him there was no damage done."

"Still," Damon muttered, more to himself than to Elena. Elena frowned, picking up on still more undertones in Damon's voice that most would have overlooked.

"You okay?" she asked. Damon sighed. There was a beat before he answered.

"Just trying to keep the peace," he said. "It's easier said than done."

"I'll talk to him," Elena said again, sensing there was more and knowing Damon wasn't going to confide in her. "It's going to be fine."

"Thank you," Damon replied, and Elena knew he meant it.

"How was the first day of practice?" she asked, deciding to change the topic. "The truth, not the song and dance you would give to the media if you were doing interviews this outing." Damon sighed.

"It took me a while to settle down," he admitted. "I was more nervous than I thought I would be. I started to settle down after several laps. Things went pretty well after that. I managed to draft without causing a wreck, Stefan got his precious prototype data. Now that I've got a day behind me, I'm starting to look forward to tomorrow."

"See?" Elena asked. "Everything was fine."

"It was just practice," he reminded her. Elena could hear the doubt in his voice and frowned. The Damon she knew was bold, fearless. This Damon, she was starting to realize, had lost confidence in himself. Once so sure of himself he was often described as cocky, he now seemed almost timid, despite the persona he liked to put forth.

"Driving is what you do," Elena reminded him. "Just – have fun. At the Daytona 500, just have fun."

"I hope you're willing to give me that pep talk a few more times between now and Daytona."

"As many times as needed," Elena told him. She glanced at the clock. "I should go. I still have enough time to take a shower before I have to wake Molly and get her ready for school."

"Sorry again for calling so early," Damon said. "Hell of a way to start your Friday."

"Are you kidding?" Elena asked, tossing her blankets off as she climbed out of bed. "In a few short weeks, my Fridays will be spent running around race tracks during qualifying rounds and Nationwide and Truck races. This is a peaceful wake up call." Damon chuckled.

"Well, thanks again," he said. "I'll talk to you later."

"Talk to you later," Elena repeated. "And, stay out of trouble, okay?" Damon chuckled.

"I'll try," he promised.

* * *

><p>"You wanted to see me?"<p>

Giuseppe looked away from the screen he was reading to find Elena standing in his doorway. He smiled warmly and swiveled his chair so he was facing her.

"I did," he confirmed. "Come in, have a seat." Elena did as instructed, closing the door behind her. She settled on one of the thick leather chairs across from Giuseppe and waited for him to begin. "I wanted to follow up with you about Damon's little incident in Daytona."

"What about it?" Elena asked.

"You're sure everything is fine? No more damage has been done? I'm not going to get a call from NASCAR issuing more fines or notifying me of a parole violation?"

"No," Elena assured him. "Like I told you, Damon called me early Friday morning and told me what happened at the bar. I looked at the photos and videos. He never put his hands on Matt. He asked Matt repeatedly to let go of him. If anyone gets a call from NASCAR, it will be John Rowe."

"I'll never understand what Rowe sees in that snot nosed kid," Giuseppe muttered. He reached for his coffee mug and took a sip of the now lukewarm liquid. "Mediocre driver, at best. That's why he puffs out his chest and looks for trouble – to make up for the fact that he hasn't won a race in two years."

"He's not pleasant," Elena agreed, opting to leave out the fact that it was closing in on two years since Damon won a race as well. "But, Damon handled things well. There's no reason to be upset with him."

"And you said he called you?" Giuseppe asked. "Told you what happened?" Elena nodded.

"Early Friday morning," she confirmed. "It was barely 6AM."

"Huh," Giuseppe said, letting the surprise he felt at the news show. Elena raised an eyebrow.

"He did what he was supposed to," she said. "He kept his temper in check and then called me to let me know what happened."

"That's the wonderment of it all," Giuseppe mused. "He called you. He hasn't owned up to his mistakes in a long time. The fact that he called you and told you there was likely an unflattering story out there about him may as well be one of the Seven Wonders of the World." Elena shook her head.

She was starting to piece together the framework of Giuseppe and Damon's relationship. Giuseppe clearly loved Damon, wanted the best for him. But, he was also taking the tough love too far, in Elena's opinion, so determined to help Damon that he was only succeeding in pushing him further and further away. It wasn't her place to call Giuseppe out on his style of parenting, but she did have something else she wanted to address, so long as she had his seemingly undivided attention.

"How did he do at practice?" she asked. "On paper, it seems like it was a success." A few moments passed before Giuseppe nodded.

"He did well," Giuseppe confirmed. "He started slow, cautious. But after he got about twenty laps on the tires, he calmed down. We let him dictate things on the first day, let him set the pace. The second day, we pushed a little more and he responded. Overall, it's safe to say he had a solid two days of practice."

"It was good for him to get behind the wheel again in that environment," Elena mused. "Rather than just throwing him back into the thick of things on race day."

"Daytona will be the real test of his mettle," Giuseppe said. "I'm not expecting him to win. I'm not even expecting him to place in the Top 10, frankly. All I want for him is to drive his race and finish. A crash at Daytona would do nothing for his psyche." Elena nodded in agreement.

"I want to see him finish as well," she admitted. "Car intact. He needs it."

"He wants to make the Chase," Giuseppe confided in Elena. "He is determined to prove that he can compete at this level. He's going to have to win at least once to make that happen with the new format." Elena looked squarely at Giuseppe.

"Do you think he can compete at this level?" she asked. Giuseppe didn't hesitate to nod his head yes.

"Without a doubt," he said with absoluteness. "It's Damon that, despite his talk, doesn't believe he can. He thinks he's lost his touch. He was struggling with the Mikaelsons, not because he wasn't a good enough driver, but because his off track behavior was affecting him. That crash at Talladega took away any shred of confidence that boy had in himself as a driver. He wants it. He wants to race. He wants to win. He wants to be a champion. But wanting it, and believing you can do it, are two different things. And Damon doesn't believe he can do it. At least not right now."

Elena remained quiet for several long moments when Giuseppe finished. She had been unclear as to wear Giuseppe stood with Damon. She couldn't tell if he were merely giving his son a car to drive out of pity or because he believed in him. She had her answer now. And, she realized, she was quickly getting pulled into a part of Damon's life she hadn't signed up for.

"How are you going to change that?" she finally asked. "How are you going to get Damon to believe he can win?" It was Giuseppe's turn to take several moments to answer. When he did, his eyes were fixed intently on hers.

"I have my ideas," he said. "Let's leave it at that for now."

The faintest of chills ran up Elena's spine. She had the distinct impression she was a part of these ideas. She was already tiptoeing the line between Damon's professional and personal life. She couldn't allow herself to cross that line. She would have to put a toe over it at some point, for Molly's sake, but that was all she could give of herself. She knew the path of destruction Damon was capable of. It had been nearly four years since their relationship ended and her heart still hadn't quite recovered.

"Now, change of topic. How is my principessa? I haven't seen her since the day before we left for Daytona," he said, turning his attention back to his laptop. Elena smiled at Giuseppe's pet name for his granddaughter.

"She's wonderful," Elena confirmed. "She actually took a photo of you from your last Winston Cup championship for show and tell today." He smiled fondly.

"That's my girl," he said. "She'll be here this afternoon? Mondays are the days Caroline picks her up from preschool, right?" Elena nodded.

"She'll be here," she said. "I'll bring her by your office. Although, I'm going to have to warn you, she may decide to stay. She's rather partial to you."

"She can help me sort out some of these damned ridiculous requests from sponsors," he answered. "Or, at the very least, distract me so I won't have to." Elena laughed.

"There's one request in that batch having to do with a bounce house," she said as she stood to return to her office. "Good luck getting her to turn that one down."

"I'll offer to buy her a bounce house of her own if that's the issue," Giuseppe teased, well aware of Elena's desire that they not spoil her daughter with elaborate gifts. They did it anyway, of course, as demonstrated by the present he had tucked away in his bottom desk drawer, purchased while in Daytona just for Molly.

"I'll be in my office if you need me," Elena said, ignoring Giuseppe's comment. She left, leaving the door open.

"We need you, Caro," he said to himself as he clicked "reply" on an email. "We definitely need you."

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><p>"Nonno, can I drive a car?" Giuseppe looked down at Molly who was walking along by his side and grinned broadly.<p>

"You want to drive a car, do you principessa?" he asked.

"Si!" Molly replied, proud of herself for remembering the Italian word her grandpa had taught her. "A race car!" Giuseppe chuckled again.

"You have to get a bit bigger before you can drive a race car," he told her. "But, me and Gigi will see what we can do about getting you something to drive that's more age appropriate. Sound good?"

"I want a pony," Molly countered. She wasn't quite three, but she still realized her opportunity to negotiate. Giuseppe laughed once more, as sure as ever that the precocious child was indeed Damon's. They had similar discussions when he was Molly's age.

"We will work on your mother about that," he promised.

"Okay," Molly agreed happily.

Hand-in-hand as they made their way from his office to the kitchen for a snack, Giuseppe felt like he was floating. He loved having sons, had been thrilled when his wife gave birth to not one, but two healthy boys. But there was something to be said about little girls. Molly loved pink and princesses and sparkles, everything his boys had pretended to gag at when they were young. She believed in fairy tales and loved books. She was innocent, saw the world through her big, blue eyes.

Those eyes were exactly like her fathers. Looking at her, it was like someone had put Damon into a photo copier and it had spit out Molly, just with her mother's hair color. While she had Damon's strong features, his high cheekbones and strong jaw, she was still delicate, petite. She needed someone to protect her. She needed, Giuseppe reasoned as they walked, her father.

He was listening intently as Molly babbled on about her day and didn't notice Damon exit the gym. Molly, however, did.

"Day-mun!" she called out. Giuseppe startled, as did Damon who stopped in his tracks at the sound of his name. He couldn't stop the soft smile that appeared when he realized it was Molly.

"Hi, Molly," he said. "Been practicing with the Pirate's Booty?" Molly nodded.

"I not catching it," she told him. Damon chuckled. He glanced from Molly to his father, wondering why the pair were together.

"Keep trying," he told her. "You'll get it eventually." Giuseppe watched the exchange with interest. He had seen photos of Molly and Damon side by side. Ginny was prone to pulling out his baby photos and holding them next to Molly's for comparison. But seeing the pair together in person for the first time, he couldn't believe Damon seemed to be clueless as to the fact that the child was his.

"Mama said that too," Molly agreed.

"So, she's letting you practice then?" he asked, now within a few feet of his father and Molly.

"Yep!" Molly agreed. She looked up at Giuseppe. "Nonno, can we get Pirate's Booty in the kitchen?" she asked. Damon looked sharply at Giuseppe as the Italian word for "grandfather" filled the air. Giuseppe held his eye for a long moment before he turned his attention back to Molly.

"Anything you want, principessa," he assured her.

"Nonno?" Damon asked. Giuseppe opened his mouth to answer, but Molly beat him to it.

"This my nonno," Molly told him. "We getting snacks and then Nonno said he has me a present."

"That's cool," Damon replied distractedly, still looking at Giuseppe for an explanation.

"You stopped talking to Elena," Giuseppe said quietly, just loud enough for Damon to hear. "Your mother and I didn't."

"Neither did my brother," Damon responded. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he felt like he was missing something. He wrinkled his nose, trying to figure out what. It was like trying to put a puzzle together without a photo of how the completed piece was supposed to look. He was drawn from his ponderings by Molly.

"Nonno, can we go now?" she asked. "My tummy is hungry."

"Well, then, we must feed the tummy," Giuseppe said. "Come along, principessa." Still holding her hand, he started to steer her in the direction of the kitchen.

"Bye, Day-mun!" Molly called over her shoulder. Damon smiled in spite of himself and wondered vaguely if the child ever wore anything besides dresses.

"See you later, Molly," he said. He nodded politely at his father.

"Dad."

"Damon," Giuseppe replied, before leading Molly down the hall.

Damon remained where he was, watching them go, hand-in-hand once more as Giuseppe talked animatedly to an enthusiastic Molly, a Molly he seemed to consider his granddaughter.

Not for the first time, Damon felt like an outsider in his own family.

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><p><strong>I think we can see now that Damon and Elena are taking baby steps towards one another. Tiny baby steps, but baby steps. We'll learn a lot more about their past relationship as well as about Elena in future chapters. I hope this chapter also gave you some insight into several relationships besides theirs. <strong>

**NASCAR stuff: **

**Talladega is known for huge wrecks, but so is Daytona. Everyone has an underlying fear that Damon will get caught in one on his first race back. Of all the races to get back to racing in, he had to go and choose the 500. Stubborn guy. **

**The Chase for the Sprint Cup is essentially the playoffs of NASCAR. It's somewhat complicated to explain as far as how the field gets slimmed down as the 10 races go by, but the idea is that the best 16 drivers make the Chase. Any driver who wins during the regular season is pretty much in the Chase and then there are knockout rounds until the last 3 drivers race for the Championship in the very last race of the season - whoever finishes best is the Sprint Cup Champion. **

**Please let me know what you think!**


	9. Shop Skills & Family Dinner

**Are you ready for the longest update so far? (I think its the longest?) **

**Thank you SO much for your reviews last chapter. I love you all! I know you're eager for Damon to find out about Molly and I promise, it's coming soon. Not this update, but soon - swear! And then, the real story will begin! I'm _Dying _for y'all to read it, just so I can read your reactions and thoughts. Any who... **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Vampire Diaries.**

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><p>"There you are," Elena said, finding Stefan up to his elbows in grease in the middle of Salvatore Racing's Sprint Cup shop. "We have a meeting scheduled to start 20 minutes ago." Stefan let out a curse word as he reached for a grease rag in a futile attempt to clean up.<p>

"I lost track of time messing with this thing," he admitted, gesturing at the car. "I'm sorry. Do you have time now? I'll go clean up and meet you in your office." Elena surveyed the scene, taking in a number of parts to the Cup car his team would run in Daytona scattered around Stefan.

"How about we multitask?" she proposed. "You keep working while we talk. I only need 10 minutes."

"You sure?" Stefan asked, already picking up a wrench to go back to work. "I can take a break."

"But, can you?" Elena countered, her eyebrow raised. Stefan gave her a guilty grin.

"Daytona is three weeks away. I need every spare minute I can get to get this team ready if we're going to contend for a championship this year."

"I figured as much," Elena replied. She leaned against the body of the car as Stefan worked. "It looks like Jeff is in a good position to make the Chase this year."

"He'll make the Chase," Stefan said with confidence. "Winning the Chase is going to go down to the very last lap at Homestead with this new format." Elena nodded in agreement.

"Martin should make the Chase as well."

"He should," Stefan agreed. He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was around. "And then there's Damon…"

"What do you think his chances are?" Elena asked, knowing Stefan would give it to her straight. He blew out a breath.

"It all depends on where Damon's head is," he said. "If he's got his head in the game and has his priorities straight, I think he could squeak out the win he needs to get there. I don't think he'll still be standing at the end of it. I don't think he expects to be. But, if he doesn't get his act together, he won't be in the final sixteen. Not this season."

"I guess we will just have to wait and see," Elena mused.

"Pretty much all you can do with Damon," Stefan said. "I recommend keeping your expectations low. It's a lot easier in the long run." Elena gave Stefan a look, taken back by his uncharacteristic display of animosity, and decided to change the subject.

"So, this prototype of yours…" she started.

"What about it?"

"What are you willing to tell the press?" she asked. "Half of my inbox is inquiries about this mythical engine."

"What do they want to know?" Stefan replied.

"Anything you will tell them. What sort of data did you get at Daytona? When are you planning to run it in a race? What sort of horsepower are we talking about? Does it shoot of rainbows and glitter every time you pass a car?" Stefan scoffed.

"No rainbows and glitter," he said. "And I'm not willing to tell them a whole lot. I want to keep my data under wraps for now. It's too preliminary to start shouting about it. How about I write up a statement tonight and send it to you?"

"Is it going to say something besides 'no comment?'" Elena asked. "Because they aren't going to like that. They are like rabid dogs, trying to find out more about that thing and what it could mean to the future of NASCAR."

"I'll do my best," Stefan promised. Elena opened her mouth to reply, but was startled by the sound of a wrench clattering to the ground. She looked around for the source of it, her eyes falling on a closed garage bay near the end of the row. She had noticed the bay before, wondered why its rolling door was shut up tight while all the other doors were open, even on the other two empty bays.

"Why is that bay shut up?" she asked Stefan, tilting her head towards it. Stefan glanced over his shoulder at the garage bay, then resumed his work.

"Do you remember that old shell of a Camaro Damon bought about five years back?" Elena nodded.

"It was literally a shell," she recalled. "Nothing more than heap of metal and Damon's big dreams of restoring it back to its former glory, bit by bit."

"It sat under a tarp in Dad's barn until a couple months ago. Once Damon was able to get around by himself after his accident, he started tinkering with it again. He hauled it over here about a month ago. He's been spending increasing amounts of time holed up in there, working on it. It's actually kind of starting to resemble a car from what little I've seen of it."

"That explains why UPS drops off packages of car parts for him every other day," she mused, glancing towards the bay once more. Now that she knew Damon was in there, she could hear the faint hum of his music and the occasional clink of metal against metal.

"It's either car parts or blackmail," Stefan stated. Elena studied Stefan for a moment as he worked.

"The two of you really don't get along, do you?" Stefan shook his head.

"Every once in a while, we manage to act cordial to one another. Those times are far and few between. It's easiest to just keep my distance."

"You used to be best friends," Elena reminded him.

"That was a long time ago," Stefan said with a shake of his head. "I love Damon because he's my big brother. But honestly, I don't like him very much." Elena sighed, but didn't say anything further on the subject. She didn't know what to say.

"I need to get back to my office," she said. "I've got a call with Martin's sponsor in a few minutes. Get me that statement tonight?"

"As soon as I've had my dinner," Stefan confirmed. Elena grinned.

"Caroline is trying a new recipe tonight," she warned him. "You might want to sneak a few fast food tacos before you go home, unless you like lentils substituted for beef."

"Tacos it is," Stefan said with a grin to match Elena's, both well aware of Caroline's lack of ability in the kitchen. He looked at Elena for a moment. "God, it's good to have you back."

* * *

><p>She couldn't help herself.<p>

Ever since Stefan told her Damon was working on his Camaro the day before, the closed garage door was like a siren, calling her to investigate. Tired of answering emails and being on phone calls with demanding sponsors, she slipped away from her desk for an afternoon cup of coffee. Instead of heading back to her office with her now full travel mug, however, she found herself walking across the shop floor, headed straight for the closed off bay. The shop itself was largely empty, most of the crew members either in team meetings or gone home for the day after an early morning start. She hesitated before pulling open the side door to let herself in.

The Camaro was nothing more than a primed out shell, just as it had been when Damon bought it. The hood was propped open with a metal rod. Parts and components to make it run were scattered about the workspace. A half assembled engine hung from chains extending from the ceiling. Damon himself sat on an overturned milk crate, a sight that made the corner of Elena's lips twitch upward in recollection of days gone by. He was concentrating on piecing together a part of the engine. Rock music pumped out of a battery-operated stereo perched on a toolbox, disguising her footsteps as she approached.

"The rumors are true," she stated. Damon jumped at the sound of her voice.

"Jesus, Elena," he breathed out. "Way to sneak up on a guy."

"You couldn't hear a bomb go off over AC/DC," she replied. She stood by the font of the car, her arms crossed over her chest. She didn't quite know how to act around Damon when there wasn't something work-related in front of them to act as a buffer. Damon picked up on her unease.

"It's my thinking music," he said. He stood, crossed the bay, and turned the radio to a low hum. "What rumors are you referring to? I've been on my best behavior lately." At least, he had kept his last drunken outing a few nights earlier out of the papers and, more importantly, away from his father's ears and, by extension, Elena's.

"I was referring to the rumor that you're actually working on this thing," she said. She reached out and placed her hand on the front fender to emphasis her point. Damon shrugged.

"No sense in letting it rust out any more than it already has," he said. He sat back down on the milk crate, picked up his wrench, and resumed his work. "Anything I can help you with?" It was Elena's turn to shrug.

"I needed a break," she told him. "I got coffee and somehow ended up down here instead of in my office where I should be, checking things off my to-do list."

"Your choices for a distraction must be limited if you found yourself here," he replied.

"Like I said, I had to see this Camaro for myself."

Damon glanced at Elena as he continued to work. He almost wished she was one of those women morning shows made over, one that used motherhood as an excuse to let herself go. Instead of ratty yoga pants and oversized sweatshirts, she wore a pair of dark wash jeans that fit her just right, a pair of brown riding boots, and a deep purple shirt. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in soft ways, and she had just enough makeup on to enhance her features. She was beautiful.

"Not much to see," he said. "Just a bunch of parts and a rusted out shell."

"Looks like it's coming along well enough," Elena replied. She peered through the driver's side window which was missing glass. "You should get some seats for this thing. Maybe a steering wheel, too."

"Thinking about putting in seatbelts as well," Damon agreed. "If I get crazy." Elena smiled at his wit.

"What color are you going to paint it?" she asked. She leaned against the car once more. The uneasiness was gone, she realized. This, sitting around a garage and chatting about nothing, was familiar. She could do this with Damon, despite their past.

"Blue," Damon answered. "The color you see just before the sun starts to set. It's darker than daytime, but lighter than the night sky. It'll be a while, though. A paint job will be the final touch."

"Well, paint job or not, it looks good," Elena said. Damon looked at her for a moment before letting out a snort as he attempted to keep himself from outright laughing. Elena smiled, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks.

"Shut up," she mumbled, making him chuckle. As knowledgeable as she was about racing in general, she knew very little about cars and what went into making them work. Her lack of understanding them had been one of his favorite things to tease her about when they were dating.

"Where's Molly?" he asked casually.

"She's with your mom, actually," Elena admitted. "She picked her up from school and they're going to hang out until I leave here in an hour or so."

"My parents seem rather fond of her," Damon mentioned. Elena raised an eyebrow, not sure if he was implying something. "Makes sense, I guess. They clearly stayed in contact with you over the years."

"They do adore Molly," Elena said, picking her words carefully. Again, she considered telling Damon the truth, right then and there. Again though, she opted not to. It didn't feel right. And, she was able to admit to herself, she was afraid to tell him. She was living in a house of cards and she was terrified of what would happen when it inevitably fell. Damon finished tightening a bolt and studied his next move, weighing his options. Finally, he looked at Elena.

"How are those super top secret shop skills of yours these days?" he asked. Elena faltered a moment before she grinned brightly.

"There's a phrase I haven't heard in a while," she said. "I haven't used my super top secret shop skills in a while, but I think I've still got it." Damon chuckled, stood, and walked to the work bench that ran along the wall behind him. He picked up a flashlight and held it out to Elena as he returned to his seat on the overturned milk crate.

"Let's see if you do," he said. Elena beamed at him as she took the flashlight and moved to stand beside him. He had to make himself look away if he had any chance of remaining professional. Still, as she moved closer, he could smell the lavender and vanilla scent of her lotion. It was familiar and, oddly, comforting. "Shine that light right into that crevice," he instructed, using a screwdriver to show Elena where he wanted her to direct her beam. "I need to tighten several screws and I can't see what I'm doing." With a click, the space Damon pointed to lit up. Elena grinned.

"Still got it," she declared, making Damon chuckle again. He went to work, eyes zeroed in on the small screws.

"So," he started, "What have you been up to over the last few years?" Elena shifted her weight from one foot from the other, but the stream of light remained steady. She was about to use a standard answer of "not much," but stopped herself. She had lied to Damon enough.

"Well, I moved to San Bernardino, went to work for the Marcos," she started. "And, of course, I had a baby. So that was sort of a big deal."

"Sounds like you've been busy," Damon mused. "New state, new job, new baby…"

"It's been a whirlwind," Elena agreed. Damon finished one screw and moved on to the next.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but I figured you would be married by now," he said. "At least in a serious relationship." Elena shifted her weight again.

"Having a kid doesn't give me a lot of time for dating," she told him honestly. "And a toddler doesn't exactly make you a desirable bachelorette." It was the truth. Molly was her priority, which meant dating wasn't something she had a lot of time for. She hadn't been a hermit, had dated here and there, including one semi-serious relationship about a year ago. But, ultimately, she had to put Molly first.

"Oh, come on," Damon said, shrugging a shoulder as he worked. "Molly is a cute kid. You could be using her to pick up men." A shiver ran through Elena as a vision of Damon, Molly in his arms, chatting up a tall, leggy blonde as she fawned over Molly, popped into her head. She quickly shoved it down.

"She's not a puppy," Elena told him instead, hoping he remembered that sometime down the road, should he ultimately decide to be a part of Molly's life. "She's a living, breathing, disturbingly intelligent almost three year old human being." Damon chuckled.

"She is smart, isn't she?" he asked. His curiosity about Molly was as strong as ever. There was something about her that he felt like he was missing. Or, he reasoned, it was just that she was a part of Elena he didn't know.

"Very," Elena confirmed. "She's almost too smart. She got in trouble at school last week for trying to tell the teacher what she was doing wrong." Damon laughed in earnest, his hands steady as he worked, just as Elena's beam of light never wavered.

"Like mother, like daughter," he teased. He tightened the last screw. "I need to do the other side," he told her, standing and moving the milk crate to the other side of the engine. Without waiting for instruction, Elena moved too, positioning her beam of light so it shined into the new crevice. Damon resumed his work.

"What about you?" she asked. "What have you been up to over the last few years?" She knew a lot about Damon's life over the last three years and a half years, thanks to Googling his name and what she heard from his family. She was interested, however, in what he would tell her. He cleared his throat as though buying time.

"Racing," he said. "That's pretty much it." Elena bit the inside of her mouth to keep herself from making a sarcastic comment about everything else Damon had been up to.

"Racing is all you ever wanted to do," she said instead.

"Yeah," Damon agreed. He left it at that. A comfortable silence fell between them while Damon methodically tightened the remaining screws. When he was finished, he stood and wiped his hands on his grease stained jeans. "Thanks for the help," he told her. He rolled his shoulder which had stiffened as he focused on the small compartments of the motor, holding himself in the same position for extend periods of time as he worked.

"It was exhausting work," Elena said seriously, making Damon chuckle again. She switched off the flashlight and placed it on top of a nearby toolbox. "I should get back upstairs. I have a few things to finish before I leave." Damon nodded.

"I guess I'll see you around," he said.

"Guess so," Elena agreed. She gave him a soft smile before walking out of the bay. Damon blew out a breath and leaned against the frame of the Camaro, eyes on the door he had just walked through.

"You blew it, Salvatore," he reminded himself quietly. "It's all on you."

His phone chimed. He pulled it out of his back pocket to find a text message from Klaus, giving him details of where their group planned to meet up that night. He didn't respond, instead slipping the phone back in his pocket. He shoved off the frame and picked up the first tool he hand landed on. He needed to focus on something, anything.

The room still smelled like lavender and vanilla.

* * *

><p>"Seriously, Mom, how do you make this?" Stefan asked, scooping a second helping of macaroni and cheese onto his plate. "All Caroline has figured out is Easy Mac. It'll do in a pinch, but it doesn't come close to this stuff."<p>

"You are the worst husband, ever," Caroline stated, narrowing her eyes at Stefan. "You can make your own breakfast in the morning."

"Care, you burnt toast _this_ morning," Stefan reminded her. "And, you attempted to make hardboiled eggs, but didn't actually turn on the eye of the stove, so they just sat there in cold water. Your threat of no breakfast in the morning carries no weight."

"Seriously, worst husband, ever," Caroline repeated. But she had little room to argue. Her skills in the kitchen left a lot to be desired, no matter how much Food Network she watched.

"Slow down on that mac and cheese," Ginny said from her seat across the table. "The rest of us have barely put a fork in our mashed potatoes." Giuseppe chuckled from his place at the head of the table as he cut into his chicken breast.

"It's just so good, Mom," Stefan said, attempting to butter her up. Instead, Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Caroline, darling, you come over this weekend and we will have another cooking lesson. I'm going to teach you how to cook if it's the last thing I do."

"Which it may very well be," Stefan quipped. Caroline scoffed and stabbed her chicken with more force than was necessary.

"You may very well be sleeping on the couch tonight if you don't watch your step," Giuseppe told Stefan. Stefan grinned, but he understood his father's message. While the teasing was meant in jest, he was close to crossing a line and genuinely hurting Caroline's feelings. He reached under the table, placed his hand on Caroline's thigh, and gave it a gentle squeeze. She replied by covering his hand with her own, signaling that everything was okay.

"I invited Elena and Molly tonight," Ginny said changing the subject. "She very politely turned me down, said she had to run a couple of errands and get Molly into bed on time. I'm sure she does have errands to run and I don't want to keep Molly up past her bedtime, but the two still need dinner."

"I'm sure Elena made Molly a very good dinner," Giuseppe said. "You have to give Elena her space, Tesoro. She just made a big move and is adjusting to being back here, and at Salvatore Racing, with Damon around. Let her have her time."

"Tuesdays are family dinner night," Ginny said stubbornly. "She and Molly are family." Everyone at the table made an effort not to look at the empty seat at the end of the table opposite Giuseppe that once upon a time was occupied by Damon. It had remained empty for months. And, before his brief return home after his accident, years.

"She likes having the evenings to spend with Molly," Caroline piped up. "She drops her off at preschool in the morning, and then doesn't see her until the afternoon. She looks forward to the time she gets to spend with her after work."

"She's a good mom," Ginny said approvingly. She looked at Caroline. "You would be a wonderful mom yourself."

"Here we go," Stefan muttered. Giuseppe grinned into his glass as he took a swig of sweet tea.

"We will have kids one of these days," Caroline promised. "When the time is right."

"When the time is right?" Ginny asked. "You' have been married for nearly two years!"

"Mom…" Stefan opened his mouth to make the same argument he made at least once a week, but was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing. They looked at each other.

"Maybe Elena changed her mind," Ginny said, already moving to stand and greet her guests. Giuseppe shook his head, recognizing the footfalls and the lack of small footsteps to accompany them.

"That's not Elena," he said. A few moments later, Damon appeared in the doorway of the dining room.

"Damon!" Ginny gasped in surprise. "What are you doing here?" No one else said anything, all looking at Damon with surprise. Damon raised an eyebrow.

"Is Tuesday no longer family dinner night?" he asked. "Because I can leave…" Ginny was on her feet.

"Of course we still have family dinner on Tuesdays," she stated. "We're just surprised to see you, that's all." She took Damon by the elbow. Petite in stature, she barely cleared Damon's shoulder. "Sit down," she ordered. "I'm going to get you a plate and some utensils. What do you want to drink?"

"Bourbon, neat," Damon answered as she half shoved him into his seat. He was already regretting his spur of the moment decision to make an appearance at family dinner.

"Try again," Ginny stated. Damon managed to refrain from rolling his eyes, fully aware that his mother's no alcohol at the dinner table rule was created and implemented strictly for his benefit.

"Tea is fine," he said. He was eager for her to come back as soon as she left. He wasn't exactly on good terms with anyone else in the room.

"Did I see you at the shop this morning?" Giuseppe asked Damon. He picked up his utensils and resumed eating his meal.

"Enzo and I worked out this morning," Damon answered. "I helped him out around the shop for a while, then worked on my Camaro."

"How is that coming?" Giuseppe continued. If Damon was going to make the effort to show up for dinner, he was going to make an effort to make it as peaceful as possible. Any form of progress with Damon was worthwhile.

"Slowly," Damon answered. "I'm just about finished building the engine."

"You'll need some help dropping it in."

"Maybe," Damon nodded. "Ric and Enzo will help."

"I would enlist your brother's help, if I were you," Giuseppe said, nodding towards Stefan who had purposefully been quiet since Damon's arrival, his motives also to keep the peace. "He knows a thing or two about engines." The two eyed one another across the table.

"I'll keep that in mind," Damon said evenly. Giuseppe sighed and was spared from further small talk by the return of Ginny with a plate, silverware, and a glass of sweet tea. She placed the silverware and tea in front of Damon, then started scooping servings from the dishes on the table onto the plate. "I can make my own plate, Mom," Damon said.

"Yeah, the rest of us managed it," Stefan piped up, unable to help himself. Caroline kicked him under the table while Giuseppe gave him a look that served as a warning. Damon spared him a look of disdain of his own. They had had their moments in recent weeks, but their relationship was still extremely strained.

"You haven't eaten a proper meal since you were here for Christmas," Ginny said, as Christmas was the last time Damon had eaten at their table. "If you're here, I'm going to make sure you eat well."

"I eat, Mom," Damon said as Ginny placed a plate loaded down with some of his favorite foods in front of him. He didn't hesitate to pick up his fork and dig in. He couldn't stop the groan that escaped. "This macaroni and cheese is amazing."

"Told you," Stefan said, resuming his own meal. Caroline rolled her eyes, but remained silent. She had made it a point to keep her conversations with Damon to the barest of minimums. She couldn't forgive him for breaking Elena's heart. She couldn't forgive him for breaking Stefan's either.

"Of course it's good," Ginny said dismissively as she returned to her seat. "And, Damon, microwavable dinners, fast food, and potato chips does not constitute eating."

"So, what earned us the pleasure of your company this evening?" Stefan asked, changing the subject. Damon glanced at Stefan.

"Last time I checked, my last name was Salvatore too," he said. "It's my understanding that I'm qualified to attend family dinners."

"It's just that it's been so long since you showed up to one," Stefan replied. "Color me shocked you even remembered what day of the week family dinner is."

"Boys," Giuseppe warned.

"Relax, Dad," Damon said, cutting into his chicken. "Stefan's just living up to his role of annoying little brother."

"And Damon is attempting to be the prodigal son," Stefan added.

"Enough," Ginny said in a firm voice. She fixed a glare on both of her sons. "We are at the dinner table. We will be respectful of one another. Do you understand me?" There was no room for argument.

"Yes, ma'am," both Damon and Stefan mumbled.

"Giuseppe, I watched a Clint Eastwood movie I hadn't seen before last night," Caroline said, stepping up to the plate to diffuse the tension and change the topic to her and Giuseppe's shared love of Eastwood flicks. "_Tightrope?" _

"Ah, that's a good one," Giuseppe said. He too resumed his meal. "It was released in 1984, I believe. He played a detective in that one."

"Wes Block," Caroline said with a nod. "It kind of freaked me out, all those murders. I made Stefan leave the bathroom light on last night."

An easy conversation settled over the table, led by Caroline and Giuseppe, Stefan supplying commentary where he could, Ginny eating in between making sure everyone's drinks were full and they had second and third helpings if desired. Damon, she noticed, remained quiet throughout dinner, clearing two plates of food. When it was time for dessert, he surprised Ginny again by offering to help. She turned him down, but noted he continued to eat his pound cake quietly, even as the topic of conversation shifted back to racing, despite Ginny's best efforts to keep shop talk away from the dinner table. It was a battle she had been fighting and losing since marrying Giuseppe some 30 odd years ago.

Once dessert was over, Giuseppe retired to his study. Caroline and Stefan offered to do the dishes, just as they did every Tuesday night. Ginny put what few leftovers there were in containers for Giuseppe to have for lunch the next day and, once she was sure Stefan and Caroline had things under control, she went in search for Damon. He had slipped away from the dinner table amidst the shuffling of post-dinner clean up. She knew he hadn't left, and also knew where she was likely to find him. Sure enough, as she pushed the heavy library door open a few inches, she spied him standing in front of a shelf, a book in his hand as he read a few pages.

"Looking for anything in particular?" she asked, pushing the door all the way open and entering the room. She hadn't had a chance to talk to Damon one on one in weeks, his expertise in avoiding her sound. Now, she had him cornered. She knew too to tread lightly.

"Not really," he answered. "Just something to read before bed. I think I might read _One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest _again." He indicated the book in his head. Ginny shook her head.

"You've read that book at least ten times," she said. She wandered over to another shelf and plucked a book from it. "You will like this one," she told him as she passed it to him. "It's set during the Civil War, tells J.E.B. Stuart's story."

"Weren't his last words '_I am resigned, God's will be done_?'" he asked, flipping the book over to read the back.

"They were," Ginny confirmed. "Just after he was shot down from his horse during the Battle of Yellow Tavern on the outskirts of Richmond."

"I think I'll give this one a shot," he said. "Thanks for the recommendation."

"Of course," Ginny said with a nod. While her boys had bonded with Giuseppe over cars and racing, she had found other interests they could share with just her - history and reading with Damon, art and music with Stefan. She took a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs that resided in the middle of the library. "How are you doing, dear?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Damon answered automatically. "I'm ready for the season to start. It's boring, sitting around the apartment on the weekends, wishing I was behind the wheel of something going 200 miles per hour."

"Let's be clear, my dear son, that if you give me another scare like you did at Talladega, I will personally finish the job, should you walk away from the car." Damon smiled, but not from humor.

"I'm planning for Talladega to be a onetime thing," he told his mother. "I'd rather not repeat it myself."

"You're feeling okay?" Ginny pushed. "Is your shoulder bothering you? How about your leg? Don't lie to your mother, now. If you're hurting, we need to know." Damon sighed.

"I'm fine," he said again. "My leg doesn't bother me. My shoulder is stiff sometimes, but nothing I can't handle. It's okay after I stretch it out, move it around some."

"No headaches?" Ginny continued. "Vision is okay?"

"Mom, I'm fine," Damon said again, this time with more force behind his words. "No headaches. Vision is fine, better than 20/20. I'm good. I know you're worried, but I promise, I'm all healed up. Other than a stiff shoulder and a few scars, I'm okay."

"I do worry," Ginny agreed. "And it's been a while since I've seen you." Damon shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"I know,'" he admitted, feeling guilty. "I've been busy."

"Doing what?" Ginny pressed.

"Just stuff," he answered with a shrug. Ginny pursed her lips, well aware of what that "stuff" was. She opted not to bring it up right then as she had other things she wanted to discuss. Bringing up his questionable behavior would only serve to cut their visit short.

"What brought you here tonight?" she asked. "Stefan was right, despite his way of going about it. You haven't attended a family dinner for a while."

"I was hungry when I left the shop," Damon said. "This place is on my way home."

"So is The Grill," Ginny pointed out. She knew there was more behind Damon's visit, besides a growling stomach and a new book to read.

"I wanted a home cooked meal," Damon said, deflecting. In truth, he didn't know what had made him turn into his parents' driveway. He drove past the house a few times a day, coming and going from his apartment near downtown Mystic Falls, if one could call the historical square "downtown," but he hadn't so much as considered flipping on his turn single since Christmas. Tonight though, the thought had occurred to him and he had turned into the drive without hesitation, at least not until he was in the dining room, facing a sit down meal with his family.

"Sweetheart, anytime you want a home cooked meal, you just come right over," Ginny said. "Breakfast, lunch, or dinner. You know I will feed you."

"I know," Damon said with a nod, the slightest smile on his lips. If there was one truth to be had in the entire universe, it was that Ginny Salvatore would always be at the ready with her frying pan to feed anyone who so much as mentioned wanting a snack.

"You're all healed, you have a full stomach, and a good book to read," Ginny said. "How is everything else?"

"What else is there?" Damon countered. He knew what she implying, but he wasn't going to offer up anything on his own. "My injuries are healed, I'm ready to go to Daytona, you gave me a book to read, and you fed me. You're pretty up to date on my life these days."

"Since you aren't going to tell me, I'll outright ask. How are you getting along with Elena?" _And there it is, _Damon thought.

"Fine," he said with a shrug. He flipped through the book in his hands. "We don't see each other all that much. I'm sure that'll change once the season starts. She's going to be traveling with us to each race."

"She is," Ginny agreed. "She's going to be bringing Molly along with her. It will be so nice to have a couple more girls on that plane."

"She's bringing Molly to the races?" Damon asked. Even as he voiced his question, he realized it was the most obvious answer. NASCAR was family friendly on the whole, and Giuseppe encouraged those who traveled week in and week out to bring their families. Still, the idea of Molly traveling with them caused a stirring in his chest that he didn't understand.

"Of course," Ginny said with a wave of her hand. "She wouldn't leave that little one."

"That will be pretty cool for Molly," Damon mentioned. "She will get to travel all over the country."

"Just like you and Elena did as kids," Ginny replied. "And Stefan," she added as an afterthought.

"Just like us," Damon repeated. He closed his book. "I'm going to get going. It's getting late, and I'm supposed to meet Enzo and Ric at the Riverview Trail in the morning to go for a run."

"Don't overdo it," Ginny warned, standing. She worried constantly that Damon was pushing himself too hard to recover.

"I won't," Damon promised as Ginny pulled him into a hug. He returned his mother's hug. He found it more comforting than he would ever admit, being wrapped in his mother's arms, however brief. Ginny let go of him, reached up, and pushed his hair off his face.

"You need a haircut," she informed him. Damon nodded.

"I do," he agreed. "I'll get one this week."

"Do it before Daytona," Ginny told him sternly. "You don't want to look like a slob when you're interviewed."

"Yes, ma'am," Damon said with a patient nod. "Bye, Mom."

"Don't make it so long before you come back, okay?"

"Okay," Damon agreed, edging towards the door. He held up the book. "I'll bring this back when I'm finished."

"Take your time," she said, knowing Damon had a fair amount of books borrowed from the Salvatore library that had never made their way back to their home shelves. She remained where she was as Damon made his way towards the door. She couldn't stop herself. "Damon?"

"Yeah, Mom?" he asked, turning with a sigh he tried to disguise. He was ready to get home, relax on his own couch, and maybe have a beer before he went to sleep.

"You and Elena," she started. "Is there any chance…?"

"No," Damon cut her off with a shake of his head. "That ship has sailed."

"Never say never," Ginny reminded him. "Crazier things have happened."

"I left Elena," he reminded his mother. "I walked away. She has her own life now. She has a kid. She's still as beautiful as ever, but that bridge is burned. I know you love her, Mom. But don't get your hopes up about a big, romantic reunion."

Ginny studied Damon for a moment. She knew her son. The 'as beautiful as ever' line was all she needed to hear to know that deep down, Damon still had feelings for Elena. "Never say never," she told him again. Damon shook his head.

"Goodnight, Mom," he said.

"Night, baby," Ginny replied. "Make sure you tell your father goodnight."

"I will," Damon said with a nod as he exited the room. Ginny listened as his footsteps echoed down the hall and out the front door without so much as a pause outside of his father's study.

* * *

><p><strong>I really wanted to accomplish two things with this update. 1) I wanted to show Damon and Elena growing closer. I'd say old feelings are definitely still there. 2) I wanted Damon to interact with his mother one on one. Ginny is vital to this story in a lot of ways - and she's the one person the Salvatore men are scared of.<br>**

**Next chapter, lots of Damon and Molly (and Elena) interaction! **

**Let me know what you think!**


	10. Brownies & Snow Storms

**Why yes, yes I did post two chapters at the same time. The reason you ask? I'm really anxious for you to read the next two chapters. Damon and Molly bonding, snow storms, Daytona... Lots of good stuff. **

**And I'm feeling generous, so, two chapters! **

**Thank you so much for reading and reviewing - I'm PUMPED for you to read these next two chapters!**

* * *

><p>"Do dey have chicken fingers here?" Molly asked, looking up at her mother as they made their way down the sidewalk towards The Grill.<p>

"They do," Elena confirmed. "Really good ones. And French fries."

"What else do dey have?"

"Grilled cheese," Elena answered easily. The menu hadn't changed in the twenty plus years The Grill had been serving Mystic Falls. "Cheeseburgers. Steaks. Baked potatoes. Salads. They have all sorts of food. Pizza, too."

"I might want grilled cheese and not chicken fingers," Molly stated.

"You can have grilled cheese if you want. And, if you eat your dinner, you can have dessert, too." Molly beamed. She then tugged at the collar of her pea coat.

"Why do I has to wear a coat?" she wanted to know.

"Because it's cold," Elena explained. "You wear coats when it's cold."

"Is it ever gonna be not cold?" Elena smiled, well aware of her daughter's aversion to the cold. It was late January, the heart of winter in Virginia. Her west coast born child was used to sunshine and t-shirts year-round.

"It's going to be cold for a couple more months," Elena told her. "But, when we go to Florida in a couple of weeks for the race, it will be warm there and we can go to the beach while we're there. And guess what?"

"What?"

"It might snow tonight!" Elena watched happily as Molly's eyes got big.

"Snow?" she asked. "For real?"

"For real," Elena confirmed with a nod, hoping the weather man was right. Molly had never seen snow and had been excited about the idea since moving back to the east coast. She herself was looking forward to snow and, even more, Molly's reaction to it. They reached The Grill and Elena opened the door for them.

"Can we build a snowman?" Molly asked as she passed under her mother's arm.

"If there is enough snow," Elena promised, letting the door shut behind them.

"Elena Gilbert! I heard you were back in town, but seeing is believing!" Elena smiled at the elderly lady seated just inside the restaurant. She searched her memory for the woman's name, recognizing her face. It came to her suddenly.

"Mrs. Frances! It's so good to see you again!" she said. Her childhood librarian stood and moved in for a hug.

"You look absolutely beautiful," the woman told her as she released Elena. She spied Molly. "And is this your little one? My goodness! She is precious!" Molly shyly tucked herself into her mother's side, her fingers going to her mouth, suddenly bashful.

"This is Molly," Elena confirmed, putting a comforting arm around Molly. "Molly, can you say hello to Mrs. Frances?"

"Hi," Molly said softly. Mrs. Frances clapped her hands in delight.

"Oh, she is darling!" she exclaimed. "Now, Elena, tell me, how are your parents?" Elena covered up her sigh. She didn't want to be rude, but she was hungry and her day had been busy, full of meetings and scheduling more meetings, in between taking calls from reporters about everything from Stefan's prototype to Damon's return to the track and his latest outing the next town over which, from what she could tell, was innocent enough, if not desirable.

"They are doing well," she said, hoping they could leave it at that.

"Now, they moved to Beaufort, South Carolina, right?"

"They did," Elena confirmed. Beside her, Molly squirmed. She gently hugged her to her side in an effort to remind her to mind her manners.

"Growing up, my family vacationed there…"

Elena knew she wasn't going to be eating anytime soon. The people she knew growing up in Mystic Falls all reacted the same when their paths crossed now – they wanted to catch up with her, tell her how happy they were to have her home and how beautiful Molly was. She knew, too, that a number of them were rather curious as to the child's parentage, given some of the leading questions they asked. She glanced around the room, recognizing faces here and there. Her eyes fell on a familiar head of raven hair, seated at the bar. Of course Damon would be there.

"Oh, yeah, my parents mentioned that," Elena said in response to something Mrs. Frances said, trying to return her attention to the woman. Molly continued to squirm. "Molly, stop," she reprimanded quietly as Mrs. Frances continued reminiscing. Without warning, Molly broke away from Elena. "Molly!" she called, watching as her daughter made a beeline for Damon. Damon turned at the sound of her voice, just as Molly reached him.

"Hi, Day-mun!" she exclaimed. Damon looked down and smiled at the toddler. She was bundled up against the cold, but her cheeks were rosy, her hair windblown, despite her stocking hat.

"Hey, Molly," he replied. He glanced at Elena who was commandeered by Mrs. Frances. She looked in their direction, but Molly climbed onto the stool next to Damon, ignoring her mother. Damon turned back to his plate of food, Molly seated at his side, watching him as her legs dangled. "How's it going?"

"How's what going?" Molly asked.

"How is your day going?" he clarified. "Was school good?"

"I like school," Molly told him. She pulled off her gloves and placed them neatly on the bar top. She then pulled off her hat, her hair standing on end momentarily from the static electricity. She then went to work on the buttons of her coat, but her small fingers couldn't quite manage the buttons. Damon watched her struggle for a few moments.

"Need some help?" he asked. Molly looked at him.

"Buttons are tricky," she said. He nodded in agreement.

"That they are," he said. He put down his knife and fork and helped her undo the buttons of her coat. He caught it as she wiggled out of it, then draped the small coat over the seatback of Molly's stool.

"Mama said it's gonna snow," she told him. She reminded him of a tiny adult in that moment.

"That's what they say," he agreed. He could feel Elena's looking periodically in their direction. "You like snow?"

"I don't know," Molly said with a shrug. "I never see'd it before."

"I guess it doesn't snow much in southern California, does it?" he asked.

"We not have to wear coats either," Molly told him. Damon couldn't help but chuckle. She reminded him so much of Elena, her easy wit and petite features. Perhaps that was why he was so drawn to Molly – she was a part of Elena.

"Well, well, well!" came a voice. Damon looked up to see Al, the longtime owner of The Grill, standing in front of him. "You must be Elena's little girl!" Molly smiled shyly at the stranger. "I've been waiting for her to bring you in here!" Without warning, Molly reached out for Damon and started to move herself into Damon's lap. Taken by surprise, he quickly looped an arm around Molly to keep her from tumbling to the floor and scooped her into his lap. She smelled like lavender and vanilla – like Elena.

"Her name is Molly," Damon confirmed. "Seems she's a bit shy." He would have never thought it, given that his interactions had been with a chatty, bubbly toddler. Al looked from Molly to Damon and back again. The resemblance, he thought, was uncanny. She was petite, like Elena, but everything else about her was Damon. He let it go, however. It wasn't his business. Again, Damon felt Elena's eyes on them. He chanced a glance over his shoulder to see her a few steps closer to them, but still caught up in conversation with Mrs. Frances.

"Tell you what, Molly," Al said, reaching onto the counter behind him. "These brownies just came fresh out of the oven. If your mom says it's okay, you can pick whichever one you want." Molly's eyes grew big.

"I can pick one?" she asked, her hand already reaching towards the basket of brownies Al had produced. Damon was quick to react.

"Sorry, kid," he said, gently moving her hand away from the basket. "Those brownies have nuts in them." Molly's face fell.

"They has nuts?" she asked, to make sure she heard Damon right.

"Yep," he confirmed. "No brownies on the menu today."

"She's allergic?" Al asked. Damon nodded.

"Very, according to Elena. Trust me, don't try to give her kid a snack without the go ahead from Mama Bear."

"You're allergic to nuts too, aren't you?" Al asked casually.

"It was one of your infamous brownies that sent me to the hospital for the first time," Damon reminded him.

"Can I has a brownie with no nuts?" Molly asked hopefully. Al shook his head.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I don't have nut-free brownies today. But I'll see what else I can dig up, okay?" Molly nodded, the disappointment clear. Al excused himself to help another customer. Damon helped Molly back to her own stool.

"I want a brownie," she sulked.

"If it makes you feel any better, I can't have a brownie either," Damon told her. She looked devastated. He knew what it was like, to be a kid and want a treat he couldn't have. "I'm allergic to nuts too." Molly looked at him curiously.

"You are?"

"I am," he confirmed. "But, it's okay. There is a whole lot of other things on Al's menu that don't have nuts in them."

"Like what?" Molly asked. Damon reached for a nearby menu.

"Let's see," he said, turning the menu to the dessert section. He pointed to the first item. "There's chocolate cake," he read. "Strawberry cake. Several kinds of pie – the apple one is my favorite, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. And milkshakes. Al makes really good milkshakes."

"What kind of milkshakes?"

"All kinds," Damon said, putting the menu down again.

"Chocolate ones?" Molly inquired.

"Chocolate ones," Damon confirmed with a nod. "With whip cream."

"And sprinkles?" she asked hopefully.

"If that's what floats your boat," Damon said. Molly giggled which made Damon grin.

"What's so funny?" he asked her.

"You are," Molly said happily. Damon raised an eyebrow. He had been called a lot of things over the years, but funny was never one of them. He saw Elena approaching from the corner of his eye and turned his attention back to his food, a wave of nerves washing over him and disappearing as fast as they came. He hadn't quite shook his mother implying that there was chance for them to reconcile.

"Molly, how many times do I have to tell you that you cannot run off like that?" Elena asked a she arrived on the opposite side of Molly.

"But I could still see you, Mama," Molly pointed out in a singsong voice. Damon couldn't stop himself from smirking. Molly, it seemed, had her mother's sass.

"Molly," Elena warned.

"Sorry, Mama," Molly said sweetly. "I not do it again."

"So you say for the tenth time this month," Elena muttered. She looked at Damon then, wishing her heart didn't still give the very faintest of flutters at the site of him. "I hope she wasn't bothering you," she said, indicating Molly with the tilt of her head.

"Nope," Damon said. He reached for his glass of bourbon and Coke. "I ran interference. Al was offering her one of his walnut brownies." Elena's eyes grew wide.

"She didn't…"

"No," Damon said, cutting her gently. "She didn't. She was pretty bummed out about it too." He watched as Elena visibly relaxed.

"Thank you," she told him with complete sincerity. "I have an EpiPen in my purse, but I would prefer not to use it."

"I've got one in my glove compartment," Damon countered. "I would also prefer not to use it." Elena smiled.

"Well, thank you," she said again, before turning back to Molly. "Come on, missy. Let's get a table and order something to eat."

"I wanna sit here," Molly said, placing her hand on the bar.

"We are going to sit at a table," Elena said. "The bar is not a place for little girls."

"I not a little girl," Molly countered. "I a big girl." Damon cut into the steak on his plate, listening as mother and daughter argued.

"Little girl or big girl, I'm still your mother," Elena informed her, gathering her hat, gloves and coat from the counter. "Now, let's go get a table." Molly sighed.

"Fine," she relented. She was about to slide off the stool when a thought occurred to her. "Day-mun say I could get a milkshake," she stated. She sat up straighter, almost defiantly. Elena raised an eyebrow and glanced from Molly to Damon and back again.

"He did, did he?" she asked. Molly nodded.

"With whip cream and sprinkles," she clarified.

"We will discuss this after you eat your dinner," Elena told her. "Tell Damon goodbye." Damon took that as his cue to swallow the piece of steak he had been chewing and turned back to Molly.

"Bye, Day-mun," Molly said. "Mama says we has to sit at a table." Damon grinned at the child's dramatic roll of her eyes.

"Between me and you, you should listen to your mother," Damon told her. "She's kind of scary when she gets mad."

"Hey!" Elena protested, making Molly giggle.

"And to be fair," he added, looking at Elena, "I didn't tell her she could have a milkshake. I merely tried to cheer her up after the devastating news that she couldn't have a brownie by trying to show her all the things she could have."

"Well, you did an excellent job," Elena said, but there was a gleam in her eye that made Damon smile softly at her. "And thank you, again. For the interference." Damon just nodded. "Come on, Molly." He watched at Elena helped Molly down from the stool and kept a hold of her hand as they made their way across The Grill and took a seat. He waved down the waitress who had been serving him.

"Can I have my check?" he asked. He jerked his head towards the table where Molly and Elena were seated, Molly already coloring the kid-friendly place mat. "And theirs too." He grinned. "And make sure you add a chocolate milkshake with whip cream and sprinkles for the little one."

* * *

><p>"That was sneaky." Damon looked up from the magazine he was reading.<p>

"What was sneaky?" he asked, taking in Elena standing before him. She was dressed for the weather, clad in jeans and a red sweater with a scarf artfully wrapped around her neck. She was wearing duck boots this time, something Damon couldn't believe he noticed. She perched on the arm of one of the chairs in the Salvatore Racing employee lounge.

"Paying for our dinner," she said. "And making sure Molly got the milkshake I was going to let her have anyway."

"She looked like someone had kicked her puppy after I told her those brownies had nuts in them," Damon said. "I can relate. Those brownies are delicious and they send people like me and her straight to the emergency room." Elena bit her lip at the "people like me and her" line.

"It was sweet of you," she said instead. "Unnecessary, but sweet. Thank you."

"Consider it a contribution to my brownie point reserve for when I inevitably piss you off down the road," he said. Elena chuckled.

"Will do," she said. There were other things she needed to be doing, but instead, she hovered in the lounge. "Any reason in particular that you're sitting around the lounge reading a magazine on a Thursday morning?"

"I got here early to lift with Enzo, saw the new issue of _NASCAR Illustrated _on my way out, and next thing you know, I'm lounging in the lounge." He raised an eyebrow. "See what I did there?" Elena rolled her eyes.

"Between you and the weather man's cuddle alert, I've heard enough cute phrases for the day."

"Ah, yes, the cuddle alert," Damon mused. "Meteorologist David Johnson's infamous way of saying it's cold as balls outside."

"Well, if that promised snowfall of his doesn't start soon, Molly is going to show up at the news station with a pitchfork and a lit torch in protest," Elena said. "She has never seen snow before and she's pretty excited. She threw an impressive tantrum this morning because it hasn't snowed yet." Damon chuckled.

"Where is your munchkin anyway?" he asked. "Aren't all the schools closed in anticipation of this might happen snow storm?" The weatherman had been promising a significant snow fall for the last 24 hours, but not a single flake had fallen yet.

"She came with me to work and your mom promptly showed up and stole her from me. I actually have no idea where they are."

"Toy store," Damon guessed. "Or the ice cream shop. Maybe the bakery. Those are Mom's go-to places when she has a kid in her charge."

"Good, more toys and sugar."

"Sounds like a good day," Damon mused.

"It does," Elena agreed. She played with the ring she always wore on her right ring finger. It was Molly's birthstone, a gift from her brother a few days after Molly was born. She would treasure it forever.

She had to tell Damon about Molly, soon. There was a relationship forming between the two. She needed to tell Damon that he was her father before Molly got too attached. If he didn't take it well, if he elected not to be in her life, it would be easier for Molly to lose him now, rather than down the road.

"You okay?" Damon asked, recognizing the pensive look Elena was wearing. Elena looked at him.

"Yeah," she said. She bit her lip. She had to do this. "Damon, do you think…" She was about to ask him if they could talk when the lounge door burst open.

"Mama!" Molly rushed across the room and threw her arms around her mother. Elena nearly fell off the arm of the couch, laughing.

"Easy there," she said, hugging Molly back. "Where have you and Gigi been?" Giuseppe had filled her in on Damon asking about Molly calling him Nonno. He seemed to have accepted that Molly and his family were close without question, for which she was grateful.

"To da store!" Molly said happily. "We gots lots of food!"

"It was a mad house," Ginny said, entering the room. "People go plum crazy over a loaf of bread, just because it might snow a little bit."

"How many loaves did you buy, Mom?" Damon asked cheekily. Ginny noticed him lounging in a chair then. She cuffed him around the head and then leaned over and gave him a motherly kiss on top of the head. Elena saw the faint smile that the gesture brought out of Damon, which vanished almost as quickly as it came.

"It's as cold as a witch's belt buckle out there," Ginny said, taking a seat on one of the sofas. "And not a single snowflake to be seen." She looked from Elena to Damon, just then realizing she may have interrupted something. It was too late now, she reasoned, making herself comfortable. Meanwhile, Elena was whispering something to Molly who nodded with a smile and turned towards Damon.

"Hi, Day-mun," she said, taking a few steps towards him. Ginny sat forward in interest, eager to see Molly and Damon interact.

"Hey, Molly," he replied. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his magazine abandoned on the table in front of him.

"Thank you for my milkshake," she said sweetly, a handful of dress in one hand as she twisted back and forth.

"You're welcome," Damon said with a nod. "Was it good?" Molly nodded enthusiastically.

"It was yummy!" she confirmed. Her eyes got big as though she realized something and she turned towards Ginny. "Gigi! Can I has my Pirate's Booty?"

"What?" Ginny asked. "Oh, that stuff," she said, already digging through her bag. "What an awful name for a food." She handed Molly a Ziploc bag full of cheese puffs. Elena just sighed and shook her head. Ever since Damon had showed her that he could catch puffs in his mouth, she had been obsessed with it, wasting more as she tossed it in the air and missed her mouth than she actually managed to eat.

"Watch dis, Day-mun!" Molly exclaimed. She threw a puff in the air. It bounced off a nearby armchair. "Shoot," she muttered, already reaching for another one. Damon grinned and watched as she repeated the process a couple more times, each without success.

"You are making a mess, Molly," Elena said. Damon winked at Elena and reached for Molly's bag of puffs.

"Open up, kid," he instructed. Molly bounced on her toes a few times before doing as instructed. Damon neatly tossed a puff into her mouth.

"Again!" Molly cried once she chewed the puff. Damon obliged, finishing off the bag and only missing Molly's mouth a couple of times.

"You're getting better," Damon said. He held up his hand for a high five which Molly happily gave. "Think you can pick up the ones we missed with?" Molly nodded.

"Yep!" She happily skipped around the room, picking up her puffs. Ginny watched in mild amusement at how Damon interacted with Molly. It was simple, sweet. She knew in her heart of hearts that if Damon wanted to, he would be an excellent father.

"She's been hooked on Pirate's Booty since you showed her that little trick," Elena told him. "She asks for it for snack every day. And then she gets in trouble at school for trying to toss it in other kids' mouths." Damon and Ginny both laughed.

"That's our girl," Ginny said, looking at Molly adoringly. The lounge door swung open again and Ric came striding in.

"Good, someone who isn't doing anything that can help me," he said, eyes on Damon. "Get up Salvatore, and meet me downstairs in the garage. I need someone to help me swap an engine out of one of the Nationwide car."

"Who says I'm not doing anything?" Damon asked.

"You're sitting on your ass…"

"Ric!" Elena gestured towards Molly who was looking at the stranger with wide eyes, her fingers now in her mouth, shy once more. "Language!" Ric had the good sense to look guilty.

"Sorry," he muttered before turning back to Damon. "You're sitting on your hind end…" Damon snorted at Ric's choice of words. Ric glared at him. "And I need help. Everyone is so worried about this snow storm that isn't coming that half of them took vacation days and those that did brave the non-storm are tied up. Come on, pretty boy. Let's get dirty." Damon rolled his eyes, but stood anyway.

"I hope you get stuck in a snow drift on the way home," he told Ric.

"I hope your balls turn blue and fall off," Ric shot back.

"Ric!" Elena cried again as Ginny reached for Molly and covered her ears with her hands. Ric once more looked guilty.

"Sorry," he apologized again, turning towards Elena. "Me… Little kids… Things that don't go well together."

"Your mother would tan your hide if she was here," Ginny told Ric as she uncovered Molly's ears. Molly, still shy, climbed into her grandmother's lap.

"Good thing she's in Minnesota," Ric quipped. He turned towards Damon.

Elena saw the moment Ric put two and two together.

He turned towards Damon, but just as quickly, looked back at Molly. His eyes shifted from one to the other and back again, his pupils growing bigger as he figured out what, so far, Damon seemed to be oblivious to. He looked at Elena in search of an answer to his unasked question. Holding his eyes, Elena shook her head minutely. Ric gave her a faint nod in return, understanding – yes, Molly was Damon's. No, he didn't know.

"You're wasting daylight Saltzman," Damon said, heading towards the door. "Enjoy your snow day, Mom, Molly, Elena." He disappeared through the door. Ric gave Molly once more glance before following after him. Ginny raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"I should get back to my office," Elena said, standing from her perch on the arm chair, her chance to tell Damon about Molly seemingly gone for the moment. "Molly? Are you staying here with me or going with Gigi?" Elena knew Ginny would take Molly with her for the day at the slightest of hints that Molly wanted to go with her.

"Oh, she's coming with me, of course," Ginny said, squeezing Molly who was still on her lap. Elena opened her mouth to agree when the door opened yet again, revealing Damon with a big grin on his face.

"Hey, Molly! Come here!" he said with a note of excitement in his tone. "There's something you need to see." Molly didn't hesitate. She slid off her grandmother's lap and rushed across the lounge.

"Damon, what…?" Elena asked. Damon winked as Molly reached him. He took her by the hand and left the lounge, leaving Elena and his mother to follow him out into the hall. While the lounge, situated in the center of the building, didn't have windows, the hallway had floor-to-ceiling windows halfway down that overlooked the picnic area of Salvatore Racing.

"Look at that," Ginny said softly, observing Damon and Molly walking ahead of her. Elena smiled and nodded. Father and daughter holding hands. Despite the truth that hung heavy around them, it was a sweet moment. Ginny took her phone out of her purse and snapped a photo of the pair. Elena glanced at her, but didn't say anything.

Without warning, Molly shrieked in delight. She let go of Damon's hand and ran to the window. "It's snowing!" she cried. She jumped up and down in place, her hands pressed against the window. "It's snow! It's snowing!"

Damon laughed at the toddler's enthusiasm over something he had seen dozens of times. Elena beamed, while Ginny stood back and watched. From the other side of the hallway, Ric did the same.

"Looks like the weatherman was telling the truth after all," Damon commented.

"It's snowing!" Molly cried out again. She turned to Elena. "Mommy! It's snowing!"

"It is!" Elena said, coming to stand near Molly and Damon. The snow had started suddenly and, it seemed, with a vengeance. The ground was already covered, the blades of grass barely visible. She couldn't help but smile. It had been nearly four years since she herself had seen snow and she too was excited, just as much by Molly's excitement as by the snow. "Look at that."

"Can we go play in it?" Molly asked, still bouncing in place.

"Of course we can," Elena confirmed.

"Maybe you should head home first," Damon said. "It's coming down fast. It won't take the roads long to get bad." Ginny smiled from where she stood. Even now, Damon still worried about Elena.

"You're probably right," Elena said, glancing at Damon before turning her eyes back to the snow. Molly had flitted over to Ginny and was pulling her by the hand to see the snow. Damon raised an eyebrow.

"I'm what?" he asked. Elena narrowed her eyes at him.

"I said probably," she countered. Damon chuckled. She gave him a soft smile. "Thanks for showing her the snow. She's been so excited about her first snowfall." Damon nodded.

"No problem," he said with a smile of his own. He felt a weird sort of warmness in his chest. "But really, you should probably get home. Mom, too."

"What about you?" Elena asked. "You headed home?" Damon shrugged.

"I'll help Ric out and then head home. Or, I might work on the Camaro for a while."

"You should try to get home home before the roads get bad," Elena countered. Damon smirked and winked at her.

"Yo, abominable snowman!" Ric called. "I need to swap that engine out. And I'd like to do it before I get snowed in this joint for the next three days." Damon rolled his eyes.

"Coming," he said. He turned towards Ginny. "Mom, you good to drive home?"

"I've only had a few hits from the flask today," Ginny countered easily. "I think I'm good." Damon shook his head and looked at Elena. "Need chains put on your car?" he asked. He jerked his thumb at Ric. "I've got someone who will put them on for you. I might help if he's nice."

"I'm good," Elena said with another smile. She had always loved how Damon and Ric bickered, almost like an old married couple. "I've got four wheel drive."

"Do you know how to use the four wheel drive?" Damon replied.

"I think I can figure it out," Elena shot back. Damon chuckled.

"Drive safe, then," he said. Ric dramatically tapped his foot. "I guess that's my cue," Damon said. "Bye, Elena."

"Bye, Damon," Elena replied with a slight nod of her head.

"Mom, take your time driving home," Damon said. He put one arm around her and gave her a side hug. His gesture took Ginny by surprise. Once, he had hugged her and his father every time they left. Now, she barely saw him, let alone hugged him. She returned the hug.

"I will," she promised. "You take your time as well, you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. He reached out and playfully tapped Molly's shoulder. She was still enchanted by the snow. "Have fun in the snow, kiddo."

"I'm gonna build a snowman!" Molly replied enthusiastically. "Mama, come on!" Damon smiled.

"I'll see you ladies around," he said before turning to leave with Ric.

"Let's get our stuff and head home," Elena said. "Thanks, Ginny, for taking her for a little while this morning. I was able to get a lot done."

"Oh, of course," Ginny said, hugging Molly to her side. An idea struck her. It was somewhat devious, but a little push never hurt anyone. "Damon!" Damon stopped at the end of the hallway.

"Yeah, Mom?"

"Why don't you help Elena get her stuff and Molly to her car?" she asked. "With it snowing, she could use an extra set of hands."

"Oh, Ginny, I don't need…" Elena started.

"Of course you do," Ginny said with a wave of her hand. "Wrangling this one when she's this excited is going to be a job. And then you have your bag, Molly's bag. And I bought Molly a few things at the grocery store. You'll have your hands full. I would help you myself, but someone has to go run my husband out of this place before he gets snowed in. I think, if given the option, Damon would rather help you." Both Damon and Elena knew there was no use in arguing.

"Mom does have a point," Damon agreed. "Ric, I'll meet you down in the garage in a few minutes."

"Yeah, yeah," Ric said with a wave of his hand. "Don't get lost on your way back." Damon rolled his eyes. Ginny excused herself to go to Giuseppe's office, leaving Elena, Damon, and a still excited Molly standing in the hallway.

"You really don't need…" Elena started.

"We both know my mother is probably lurking somewhere, making sure I do the chivalrous thing and help the two of you to your car."

"Mama!" Molly wined. "I want to go outside!" Elena recognized the onset of a temper tantrum. She sighed.

"Let's stop by my office and get our things," she said to Molly. "Then, we'll go."

"Yay!" Molly cheered. She was still wearing her coat, hat, and gloves. Before Damon realized he had done it, he scooped Molly into his arms.

"I've got this one," he said to Elena, indicating Molly. Elena didn't trust herself to speak. It looked so natural, Molly in Damon's arms. Instead, she nodded.

The three made their way to Elena's office, Damon and Molly keeping up a steady conversation about snowmen while Elena was lost in thought, trying for the umpteenth time to figure out how to tell Damon about Molly. She listened to Molly giggling at something Damon said as she quickly gathered her things. Her bag on her shoulder, and the bag of junk food courtesy of Ginny in one arm, she reached for Molly's bag, only to find Damon already holding it. Again, she took in the sight of Molly in Damon's arms, her _Frozen _bag looking right at home.

"You ready?" Damon asked.

"Yeah," Elena nodded.

"Day-mun, do you know who Olaf is?" Molly asked.

"I don't think I do," Damon answered, leading the way towards the staircase, skipping the elevator out of habit. Again, Elena listened as Molly filled Damon in on Olaf, the talking snowman from _Frozen. _At the glass double doors that led the way from the lobby to outside, Damon stopped. "You ready for this?" he asked Molly, nodding his head towards the snow. Molly nodded enthusiastically.

"Hurry!" she told Damon, making him laugh. He pushed open the door and held it for Elena.

"Molly, it's your first snowfall!" Elena said. She juggled the grocery bag in one hand and fumbled for her phone with the other. She swiped with her touchscreen gloved finger to open the camera. She wanted to document the moment. Setting the camera to video, she turned it on Damon and Molly. With a pang, she realized it was the first time Damon got to experience any sort of "first" with Molly. Guilt quickly set in, as it had with more frequency lately, as she truly realized the impact of keeping Molly from Damon.

"Here we go," Damon said to Molly. He stepped out under the building's overhang and into the heavy snow. Molly shrieked in delight once more.

"Snow!" she cried out, raising her hands in the air. "I love this!" Both Damon and Elena laughed. Molly started to squirm. "Put me down!" she demanded. Damon did as instructed. Molly immediately put her gloved hands into the snow and laughed out loud at the sight of her handprints when she pulled them out. Damon couldn't help but smile at her innocence.

"Check this out," he said, squatting down to Molly's level. He picked up a handful of snow, already nearing an inch deep, and made a small snowball. He tossed it ahead of them. Molly laughed and mimicked his motions. He made another snowball and tossed it, Molly doing the same. He glanced at Elena, realizing she was videoing them. He turned away and smirked, making another ball of snow. Without warning, he tossed it at Elena.

"Damon!" she shrieked, dancing a view steps to the side to avoid the snowball. It hit her shoulder and dissolved. Molly giggled, jumping up and down in the snow. Damon laughed. Elena stopped the recording.

"You going to put that on YouTube?" he asked with a grin.

"I should," Elena retorted. "It might do you some good to have something a bit more innocent out there."

"Touche," Damon agreed. He could see the road from where they stood. It was quickly becoming snow covered. "As much as I hate to break up this parking lot party, you really should get home." Virginia didn't get big snowfalls often, and when it did, it was paralyzing. Damon tried not to think about how far behind the snow might put Salvatore Racing on Daytona prep if crew members couldn't get to headquarters.

"We should," Elena agreed. "Molly, come on, sweetheart. We need to get home."

"I'm playing!" Molly wined. She had ventured a few yards away, steadily kicking at the snow with her boot.

"We can play more when we get home," Elena promised.

"Come on, munchkin," Damon said. He again scooped Molly into his arms. This time, she started to kick and scream.

"No!" she yelled. "Put me down! Put me down!" Damon looked to Elena as he made a move to put Molly back on solid ground, not sure how to handle a toddler's tantrum.

"Don't put her down," Elena instructed. "She doesn't get her way on this." Molly continued to squirm, but Damon obeyed Elena's instructions, holding on to the squirming toddler as they made their way to Elena's small SUV.

"Hey, Molly, it's okay," he tried. "It's getting slippery out which means it's not safe to be on the road. Your mom just wants to get you home safely. Then you can play in the snow some more, okay?" If Molly heard him, it fell on deaf ears as she continued to throw her tantrum.

"Molly, that's enough," Elena said sharply. Still, Molly's tantrum raged on. They made their way to the car and Elena opened the back door, putting her bags in the floorboard. With some effort, Elena took Molly from Damon and somehow, managed to wrangle her into her car seat, all while Molly continued to kick and scream. Elena shut the car door and turned to find Damon had cleared the thin layer of snow that had already accumulated off her windshield.

"And here I thought she was perfectly angelic," Damon mused. He could still here Molly's tantrum, even with the car doors shut. Her endurance was impressive.

"She's wonderful," Elena said truthfully. "Until she sets her mind to something. And then, it's do or die. Or, in her case, throw a tantrum worthy of Naomi Campbell."

"I'm impressed," Damon said. Molly's screams were dying down, but were still audible.

"She'll scream it out and be asleep by the time we turn onto the main road," Elena said. She opened the driver's door. "Thanks for your help," she told Damon. "Turns out, I actually needed it. I would have stood in the middle of this parking lot fighting with a screaming toddler while trying to balance groceries and my bags. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. It's not fun."

"Glad I could help," Damon said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to ward off the cold. Elena noticed.

"You don't have a coat on!" she stated. "You must be freezing. Go inside."

"It's not exactly warm out here," Damon agreed. "You should get going, too." Elena nodded.

"Thanks again," she said, sliding into the car. Damon nodded at her and then looked past her into the backseat. Molly had stopped screaming, but tears ran down her face, her cheeks read and splotchy.

"Bye, Molly," he said. She didn't reply, just sniffled and hid her face in her car seat. Damon smiled and turned back to Elena. "Drive safe, Elena."

"I will," Elena replied. "You drive safe, too."

"Driving is kind of my thing," Damon said with wink that made Elena chuckle. He moved to shut her door for her, but a thought occurred to him and he pulled it back open. "Hey, earlier, you were going to ask me something? Before my mom and Molly showed up?" Elena was sure her heart stuttered to a stop for a moment as she recalled she had been about to ask Damon to talk with the intentions of telling him the truth about Molly.

"Mama!" Molly suddenly wailed from the backseat. "I wanna go!" Elena sighed. With the snow falling heavy and Molly mid-meltdown, now wasn't the time.

"It was nothing that can't wait another day," she said. It had already waited three years. Damon nodded.

"Drive safe," he said one more time before he shut her door.

Elena blew out a breath as she cranked the car, watching Damon walk back to the building, his dark hair dusted with snowflakes. In the backseat, Molly started to whine again. As she put the SUV in drive and pulled forward slowly, she shook her head slightly. There were soap operas with storylines less complicated than her life.

* * *

><p>"Did you dig her a clear path and drive her home?" Ric asked when Damon appeared in the shop.<p>

"Her kid threw a tantrum in the parking lot," Damon answered. "Getting everyone and everything in the vehicle was easier said than done. It's getting nasty out there. Let's get this engine swapped so we can get home."

"Let's just pull this engine out," Ric said, motioning towards the car. The hood was already popped and Ric had been at work getting the engine ready to be lifted out of the car. "We'll drop the new one in whenever Snowmageddon has passed."

"Sounds good to me," Damon said. He picked up a wrench and went to work loosening a few bolts Ric hadn't loosened yet. Ric leaned against the car, letting Damon do some of the hard work for a change.

"That kid of hers…" Ric started.

"Molly," Damon supplied. He passed a bolt and washer to Ric who pocketed it for safe keeping.

"Molly," Ric corrected. He scratched the back of his neck nervously. "She's not… You know…" Damon raised an eyebrow, glancing at Ric as he continued to work.

"You couldn't make more sense if you tried," he said. Ric sighed.

"That kid, are you sure… Hell, I'll just come out and ask. Is that your kid?" Damon straightened up so fast he barely avoided smacking his head on the car's hood.

"What?" he asked. Ric shrugged.

"The resemblance is uncanny," he said. "I mean, her eyes…" Damon studied him for a long moment.

"I can't think about that," he said. Rich raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"I can't think about it," Damon said with a shake of his head. "I can't think about who Molly's father is. It's a can of worms I can't open right now. I have to focus on Daytona. I have to get through Daytona before I can spare any brain space to think about something else more complicated than what I want for lunch."

Ric nodded. He got it. Damon wasn't blind to the fact that Molly looked exactly like him or the fact that the toddler called his parents Gigi and Nonno. But, he and Daytona was like David and Goliath. He knew Damon well and knew he was a hell of a lot more nervous about racing again than he would ever admit to. After the traumatic few months he had had, Damon truly didn't have the capacity to take on anything else life changing, at least not until he, hopefully, got a successful race under his belt and worked through his fears.

"Besides," Damon continued. "Elena wouldn't keep something like that from me. No matter how we left things, no matter what I did, she wouldn't keep something like a child from me."

"If you say so," Ric muttered. Despite Damon's beliefs, Elena had clearly done just that.

"I say so," Damon said with finality in his voice. It was obvious he didn't want to talk about it anymore. Ric decided to let it go. He knew the truth and, he thought at least, Damon knew it deep down. All he could do was be there to help him pick up the pieces when he inevitably found out and self-destructed. "This is the last one," Damon said, passing him one last washer and bolt. Ric pocketed it and together, they started hooking chains to the motor.

"So, Molly's parentage aside," Ric started, deciding to change the subject. "You and Elena?"

"What about me and Elena?" Damon asked. A curse word slipped from his lips as he tried to force the chain's hook into place.

"You chasing after her again?" Damon's hook snapped into place.

"Like I told my mother, that ship has sailed."

"You seemed kind of cozy just now," Ric continued.

"You're an ass."

"You like her," Ric teased.

"Everyone likes Elena," Damon countered. "She's nice and likeable."

"But you like like her."

"Are you 12?" Damon asked. "Let's talk about you. What's up with you and that doctor chic you met while I was in the hospital?"

"Oh, I'll tell you what's up," Ric said, waggling his eyebrows. Damon snorted. "I owe you, by the way. Had you not gone and nearly gotten yourself killed at Talladega, I wouldn't have had to go to the hospital. And had I not had to go to the hospital, I wouldn't have met Jo."

"Glad my near death experience proved to be beneficial for you," Damon quipped.

"Everyone has to be good for something," Ric mused. Damon chuckled. At one time, Ric had been his closest friend, second only to Stefan. He liked having Ric around again, even if they weren't as close as they used to be. Ric was one of the few people who didn't treat him differently, now that he was back.

"You good?" Damon asked, his last chain fitted in place.

"I'm good," Ric confirmed. They stepped back and Ric hit a button on the lift. They watched in silence as the motor, blown during a final practice session at Daytona, was pulled from its place in the car.

* * *

><p>"You should have seen them," Ginny said, settled comfortable in her armchair near Giuseppe's desk, a mug of tea in her hands as snow continued to fall outside. "Damon and Molly. It was the sweetest thing. He was so good with her, tossing those puffs to her and then coming to get her when it started to snow. He didn't think twice about picking her up. And, well, you saw them in the parking lot."<p>

"I did see them in the parking lot," Giuseppe agreed patiently, flipping through some notes from his crew chiefs on the status of their cars for Daytona. "You practically dragged me to the window and made me watch."

"He has to know," Ginny continued. "On some level, he has to know that Molly is his. You know how Damon is, Giuseppe. I love him, because he's my son, but he is selfish. He thinks about himself and what will benefit him almost exclusively. Yet there he was, wrapped up in Molly, telling Elena to drive safely. He still has feelings for her, Giuseppe. I just know he does."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Giuseppe cautioned. "Damon and Elena didn't end well. And there's the small matter of Molly's paternity. We won't be planning a wedding anytime soon."

"Well, a funeral looks slightly less likely, at any rate," Ginny intercepted. "Damon has been on his best behavior as of late, has he not?"

"He has either been on his best behavior, or he has gotten better about hiding his worst behavior," Giuseppe mused. "The fact that Damon hasn't ended up a trending topic on Facebook in a few weeks doesn't mean he hasn't been up to his old tricks."

"Well, I don't think he has," Ginny said almost defiantly. "He came to family dinner."

"He did."

"That was a step in the right direction," Ginny insisted. "It's been nearly four months since his accident. Two since he moved into his own place. It was his first meal with us since Christmas and you'll remember how Christmas dinner ended."

"It was more like the Fourth of July," Giuseppe said.

"Exactly," Ginny agreed. "Yet, we made it through family dinner without incident." Giuseppe sighed and removed his reading glasses.

"Tesoro, I love you more than my own life," he said. "I know you want Damon back. I do too. But, he has to come back to us on his own. He has to work through whatever it is that he has to work through. We can't make him do anything. We also can't allow one dinner or a few tender moments with his daughter to get our hopes up."

"I know," Ginny admitted. "It's just hard not to."

"It is," Giuseppe agreed. "He still has to find out about Molly, as well. I know our son. He's a hot head…"

"Like his father," Ginny mumbled, remembering some of Giuseppe's moments from his driving days. Giuseppe chuckled.

"He's a hot head," he repeated. "When Elena tells him about Molly, he's going to be angry. Not just with her, but with us as well. We have to be prepared for that. We have to know that when the other foot falls, Damon will likely turn his back on us."

"I won't let him," Ginny said defiantly. "We let him run away once. I won't let that happen again. He needs his family." She sat back in her chair, putting her tea cup down and picking up the knitting project she had been working on in her spare time. "Besides, I've seen him with Molly. He adores her. He won't be able to turn his back on her."

"I've seen Damon with her too," Giuseppe reminded her. "And I agree, he cares for our princepessa. But, we have to be ready for the worst." He knew his wife wanted their family back to the way it used to be, when they were tight knit and close. But, even in the best case scenario, there was no going back. There was too much water under the bridge. Whatever their new normal would become, it wouldn't go back to the way things used to be.

"I'll tell you what," Ginny said. "You be ready for the worst. I'll be ready to fight to keep my son in this family."

* * *

><p>Damon woke up with a groan. His head hurt, and it felt like someone had stuffed dozens of cotton balls in his mouth. He pushed himself into an upright position, cringing at the light pouring in from the nearby window. He rubbed his hand over his face as the events from the night before came back to him. After two days of being snowed into his apartment, he had braved the still icy roads and headed to The Grill where he drank too much and brought home a redhead.<p>

When he remembered the redhead, he looked over to the other side of his bed. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw she was already gone. There was nothing worse than trying to extricate a one night stand from his apartment who had decided she wanted to be more than a one night stand.

Sighing, he pushed himself to stand, took a few steps, and tripped over one of his boots. He caught himself on his dresser and winced as pain shot through his head. He gave his head a little shake and continued towards the bathroom. He emptied his bladder, and then drank right from the sink as he tried to rid his mouth of the dryness.

He half stumbled through his small, messy apartment to get to the kitchen. He filled a glass – whether clean or dirty, he didn't know – with water and found his bottle of aspirin. He popped two in his mouth and swallowed, closing his eyes and letting regret roll over him.

Once upon a time, he would wake up from a night of drinking and one night stands to do it all over again just hours later. That was Daytona Beach and his days with the Mikaelsons were for him – one big playground. Now, back in Mystic Falls, it didn't hold the same allure. Maybe it was because he was Mystic Falls, driving for his family. Or maybe he was older and things like all night binge drinking were losing their appeal. And his near death experience probably had a thing or two to do with it as well.

He spent a lot of time feeling like he was at a crossroads. He couldn't go back, but he couldn't seem to move forward either. He had no idea what forward was.

He finished off his glass of water and filled it again, starting to feel a little better. Right now, he reasoned, he needed to focus on the NASCAR season. They would be heading to Daytona in a few days for the duels, qualifying, and media days. That was where his focus needed to be.

Not on what he didn't have.

Or on little girls with vivid blue eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>WHEW! That was a lot of bonding time. All important. On to the next chapter... <strong>


	11. Duels With Ketchup

**Are we ready for the evening's second chapter? I hope so. It's a big one. **

**Couple of things - if you haven't seen _Days of Thunder, _Google the plot to get the reference Caroline makes (not necessary though, Caroline is just being snarky)**

**Duels - At Daytona, for the 500, they qualify in two Duel races - short races in a shortened field, essentially, and then qualify drivers for the Daytona 500 based on times. It takes place a few days before the actual race. The 500 is the only race of the season where there's a lot of lead up and pomp and circumstance - it's the first race, so it's a big deal. **

**And now - we read the big one!**

* * *

><p>"Elena, I need your help."<p>

Elena looked up from the document she was composing to find Caroline standing in her doorway, holding several hangers draped with clothing.

"With what?" she asked suspiciously, although she already had a good idea.

"My Daytona wardrobe!" Caroline exclaimed. She tossed the load of clothing into one of the chairs across from Elena's desk and collapsed into the other. "Whose idea was it to have a race at the beach in February? I haven't been working on my beach body like I should have. Why didn't I think about the fact that I will be at the beach for over a week when Stefan and I were eating a pumpkin pie straight out of the dish a few nights ago?"

"Care, you look amazing," Elena told her. It was true. Caroline was tall and toned and looked fantastic in everything from little black cocktail dresses to pajama pants. "Whatever you decide to pack for Daytona will be fine."

"I need outfits for vendor events, for media events, for the beach, for shopping, for race day, for strolling the infield… I can pack for a weekend, no problem. But almost two whole weeks in Daytona? That's too much to deal with."

"Caroline, breathe," Elena instructed. "And then, tell me what's really going on." Caroline sighed.

"I'm so glad you're home," she admitted. Elena had always been able to see straight through her.

"I'm glad I'm home too," Elena replied patiently. "But you aren't freaking out over outfits to wear to a NASCAR race because you're happy I'm home. You've been to Daytona a time or twelve by now." Caroline glanced over her shoulder and then stood to shut Elena's office door.

"Can you keep a secret?" she asked, returning to her seat. Elena raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously?"

Caroline smiled. "Molly, right," she said, glancing at a photo of Molly on Elena's desk. "It's just… I have news and I'm dying to tell everyone, but I – we – don't want to tell everyone right now, but I have to tell someone, because if I don't, I'm going to go crazy."

"Spit it out, Care," Elena said, a smile already forming. She had a feeling she knew what was coming. A huge smile broke out on Caroline's face.

"I'm pregnant," she said. Even if it was exactly what she expected, Elena gasped, her eyes growing big as her hand flew to her mouth in surprise.

"Caroline!" she squealed. "Oh my God!" Elena stood so fast her desk chair rolled away into the wall behind her. She met Caroline at the end of her desk and the old friends threw their arms around one another, hugging tightly. "Oh my God!" she said again. "Care!"

"I know!" Caroline replied giddily. "We just found out. I'm only about five weeks along, which is why we want to keep it quiet, but I couldn't not tell you. I had to tell you!" There was another round of shrieking and hugging. Elena finally pulled away to wipe at a few happy tears.

"You haven't told Ginny or Giuseppe?" she asked.

"Not a chance," Caroline said with a shake of her head. "We're going to wait until I'm closer to eight weeks to tell them. You know how Ginny is. The second she finds out, she's going to be ridiculous and overbearing. More so then she already is. We just – wanted to keep it to ourselves for a little bit."

"So, you told me," Elena said, her eyes sparkling.

"Well, I had to tell someone!" Caroline said. She returned to her seat and Elena to hers. "Which is why I need your help with the clothes. I need something to camouflage my weight gain." Elena narrowed her eyes.

"Weight gain?" she asked. "You're not remotely showing. I've had a baby, remember? You'll start showing soon enough, but as for right now, enjoy wearing the pre-baby jeans."

"My boobs are already bigger," Caroline stated.

"Yeah, that was the first thing that got bigger on me too," Elena said, crinkling her nose at the memory. "And then my belly popped and everything else got big."

"And you were right back to pre-baby weight two months after Molly entered the world," Caroline reminded her. "You've set the bar high, given me something to aspire to." Elena rolled her eyes.

"My weight loss had a lot more to do with a premature baby and an ex-boyfriend who wouldn't answer his phone," she reminded Caroline. "I barely ate for weeks. I can only hope your pregnancy goes a lot smoother." Caroline unconsciously rubbed her belly.

"I'm terrified," she admitted. "Like, scared to death. I'm having a baby, Elena. I'm going to get really fat and I'm going to push a tiny human being out of my body. And then? Then, I'm going to have to take care of it. I dropped a dozen eggs just this morning, Elena. If I can't get eggs from the fridge to the frying pan, how am I going to keep a baby alive?" Just like that, Caroline had gone from elated to panicking.

"It is scary," Elena agreed. "But, at the risk of sounding like a walking, talking cliché, becoming a mom is the single greatest thing you will ever experience. Trust me, it all comes to you naturally. Somehow, you will just know what to do."

"Thank God you have a baby already," Caroline said with a shake of her head. "I'm going to have a 100 questions for you. A day."

"Ask away," Elena said. "I'm not expert, but so far, Molly is turning out pretty well."

"She's the best," Caroline confirmed. "And she's going to make a great big cousin." Elena smiled.

"She's going to be so excited."

"Ginny is going to be so excited," Caroline said. Elena laughed.

"I don't envy you," she said. "She worried me to death and I had the whole continent between us for most of my pregnancy." There was a knock on Elena's door.

"Come in!" she called. The door opened and Damon appeared in the doorway. He took in Caroline and Elena, and then the pile of clothing.

"Did I interrupt a _Clueless _reenactment?" he asked.

"No, but now that you're here, we can reenact _Days of Thunder," _Caroline fired back. "You can be Cole."

"Caroline!" Elena exclaimed as Damon frowned. Caroline just shrugged. "What do you need, Damon?" Elena asked. He held up a piece of paper.

"Dad said to bring this to you." He took a few steps into the office and placed the paper on her desk. Elena glanced at Damon and then picked up the paper. It was a one page summary outlining Damon's probation from NASCAR. She glanced over it quickly. She had asked Giuseppe for the details, details she needed in order to plan for Damon's media schedule. She didn't understand why he had Damon deliver it to her instead of just emailing it to her himself.

"Thanks," she said softly. Damon just shrugged and gave her a sad sort of half smile as he backed out of the office and closed the door.

"What was that all about?" Caroline asked. Elena picked up the paper again, studying it without really seeing it.

"I asked Giuseppe for the stipulations around Damon's probation so I could manage his interviews accordingly. It seems Giuseppe had Damon deliver them himself."

"Probably a good reminder for the idiot," Caroline muttered. Elena didn't reply. Instead, she refocused and read over the probation rules. They were pretty standard, stemming from a fight in the garage pre-Talladega and intentionally wrecking another driver. As Damon hadn't raced since Talladega, his probation, 12 races worth, started with Daytona.

"He just has to keep his nose clean," Elena said. "No fighting in the garage, no fighting on pit row, no intentionally wrecking other drivers. 12 races is nothing, really. He's lucky that's all NASCAR handed down."

"Well, there was also that $100,000 fine," Caroline recalled. "And all those ownership points they docked from the Mikaelsons."

"There's a lot more going on with Damon than meets the eye," Elena said. "I just don't know what it is."

"Elena…," Caroline warned.

"What?"

"I know that tone."

"What tone?"

"That 'I'm going to fix it' tone," Caroline said. "Whatever is going on with Damon has been going on for years, since before the two of you broke up. Just because you haven't seen him in nearly four years, and have been raising his kid for nearly three, doesn't mean you can sweep in and fix whatever is going on with him."

"I'm not trying to fix anything," Elena argued. "I'm just… Curious."

"Do yourself a favor, and don't be curious," Caroline advised. "He's a mess. You have enough going on in your life without trying to fix Damon."

"I see where you're coming from," Elena said. "But, either way, Damon is a part of my life. Especially once I tell him about Molly."

"All I'm saying is you can't fix someone who doesn't want to be fixed," Caroline said. She reached into the pile of clothes and picked up a green dress. "What about this for casual daytime wear?" Elena bit back a sigh and started giving Caroline her opinion on outfits.

Even as Caroline held up one article of clothing after another, the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that there was a lot more going on with Damon than any of them realized wouldn't go away.

* * *

><p>"You've been busy."<p>

Damon barely glanced up from the transmission he was working on.

"Anything I can help you with?" he asked Giuseppe.

"I came down to check on last minute preparations before the haulers leave for Daytona in the morning, saw the door open, and thought I would look in and see the progress." Giuseppe entered the garage bay and walked slowly around Damon's Camaro, observing his work. "She's looking good."

"Thanks," Damon muttered, eyeing his father suspiciously. Giuseppe wanted something.

"You're hand assembling the engine," Giuseppe commented.

"Just like they did in '69," Damon agreed. Giuseppe's eyes swept the garage bay.

"In a room that's almost as surgically clean as the one those engines were put together in," he observed. There wasn't a tool out of place, not so much as a loose screw or smear of grease. Damon's apartment looked like an atomic bomb went off nearly all the time, and his childhood bedroom hadn't looked much different, but he had always kept his work space in the shop spotless.

"What do you want, Dad?" Damon asked, putting down the tool in his hand and turning on the stool he had perched on to face his father. Giuseppe leaned against the car and crossed his arms.

"I wanted to talk to you," he told Damon. "For a few minutes, one on one."

"That's never good," Damon muttered.

"You're not in trouble," Giuseppe said carefully, hoping to convey with his tone that he merely wanted to have a conversation. "Daytona is next weekend. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Damon said with a shrug. "Just ready to race."

"Your mom said you mentioned that your shoulder is still bothering you."

"I practically crushed it four months ago," Damon pointed out. "It's always going to be a little sore."

"That extra padding I wanted you to try when we were testing at Daytona might make things a little more comfortable." Damon shook his head.

"The cockpit is tight enough without adding unnecessary crap," he said. "I don't want it."

"Fair enough," Giuseppe conceded. "Your head is in the game? You're ready for everything that's going to happen next week?" Damon opened his mouth to reply, but Giuseppe hurried on. "I'm not asking as your owner," he said. "I'm not asking as your boss, or, as you're fond of calling me, your prison warden. I'm asking as your father." Damon sighed, his defenses crumbling as quickly as he had constructed them upon Giuseppe's arrival.

"I'm as ready as I can be," he said. "I just need to get in the car and race." He left it at that. In truth, he was nervous. Testing had helped him take the edge off, but he needed to be in a race environment. He hoped facing his fears – racing again, at a restrictor plate track – would help him get over them. Face them head first. If a person was afraid of heights, they climbed high to get over them. Surely it worked that way with racing as well.

"You're not alone in this, Damon," Giuseppe told him. "You have a whole team – and your family – behind you." Damon nodded.

"I know," he admitted. He picked up a bolt and started playing with it, twirling it between his fingers. "I just need to get back in the car."

"Soon enough," Giuseppe said. "The Duels are in four days." He was grateful for the way Damon was being eased back into racing. Rather than being thrown right into a 43 car field race after his accident, they were able to gradually work him in, first with testing and then with the 25 car field twin duel races. He would be on the big stage with the Daytona 500, but he would have at least had some behind the wheel time before taking on a track almost as notorious as Talladega for its big crashes.

"Here's to qualifying," Damon muttered.

"You will," Giuseppe said with confidence. Damon didn't bother to dispute him. He was determined to qualify on his own, not with a provisional spot. Giuseppe crossed his arms and leaned against the car. "Your mom was thrilled that you stopped by for dinner the other night."

"I was in the area," Damon said. "And I was hungry." Giuseppe nodded. He knew there was more behind why Damon stopped by. He also knew Damon wasn't going to divulge more than he wanted to.

"You should stop by more often," Giuseppe venutred. "We'll obviously be in Daytona next week, but I think your mom wants us to go out to dinner as a family on Tuesday – keeping with the whole family dinner on Tuesdays thing. And of course, there's race day breakfast."

"I'll have to check my schedule," Damon said. Giuseppe knew that was as good of an answer as he was going to get. He pushed off the car, preparing to leave.

"I'm going to head back to my office and finish up a few things," he told Damon. "But Damon, at Daytona, just keep your nose clean, okay? Focus on the race. I don't care if you win or finish dead last, just focus on the race. And keep some distance between you and Matt, both in the garage and on the track, if you can."

"I'm not planning on going anywhere near that asshole," Damon stated. Giuseppe nodded in approval.

"Maybe stay away from the Mikaelson brothers while you're at it," he suggested. "At least off track."

"They're my friends," Damon replied.

"There's a word I wouldn't choose myself," Giuseppe mused. "Although I supposed the young one – Colin? – isn't all that bad."

"Kol," Damon corrected.

"Close enough," Giuseppe shrugged. He could admit that the Mikaelsons were decent drivers. It was their off the track behavior he didn't approve of, coupled with the fact that their father stole his son away from him and promptly headquartered him out of their Daytona operation instead of leaving him in Mystic Falls. While Damon was ultimately at fault for the choices he had made in the last several years, Giuseppe still held Mikel Mikaelson responsible. "Don't stay too late."

"I won't," Damon replied.

"We have a driver's meeting in the morning," Giuseppe continued. Damon nodded.

"At 9:00, sharp," he said. "I'll be on time."

"Very well," Giuseppe said with a nod. He took several steps to the door, but stopped in the frame. He looked at Damon. "You're going to be fine, son." Damon swallowed hard.

"Okay," he said, his chest suddenly tight.

With a final nod, Giuseppe was gone. Damon blew out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

* * *

><p>"<em>35 laps left," his spotter said into his earpiece. "It's going to get dicey. Kenseth and his team agreed to draft with you. Stay low and stay in the draft. Kenseth is two cars behind you. He's going to need a couple laps to get around the number 12, and then he'll get up with you." <em>

"_Got it," Damon replied. "How are we looking on fuel?" _

"_Solid," came the voice of his crew chief. "It's going to be close, but we have enough to make it to the finish line. Rumor is the seven car doesn't have enough to make it to the finish without a caution. How's the car feeling?" _

"_Good. Real good. If I can get through this lapped traffic, we can be there at the end." _

"_That last adjustment seemed to do the trick." _

"_It did," Damon agreed as he passed the start/finish lap. 34 laps to go. "Now shut up and let me drive." His crew chief chuckled. _

"_Over and out," he said before the headpiece fell quiet. Another couple of laps went by. The headpiece crackled to life once more. _

"_Kenseth is making his move," came his spotter's voice. _

"_I see him," Damon replied, glancing ever so quickly into his review mirror. _

"_Watch the 22. He's drifting down the track." _

"_He's going to get hung out of the draft," Damon replied. In his rearview mirror, the black and yellow car of Matt Kenseth appeared. Like he predicted, the 22 car fell out of the draft and started losing position on the track rapidly. _

"_And there he goes," the spotter said. Silence resumed as Damon and Kenseth worked together, navigating lapped traffic and picking off one driver after another. Damon felt a certain thrill of vindication when he moved into the Top 5, passing one of his father's drivers. He crossed the start/finish line once more. 25 laps to go. _

_The spotter let out a sudden explicit. _

_It happened fast. _

_A lapped car directly in front of him got loose as they went into turn 4. He watched the driver, a young kid barely old enough to be driving in the series with only a handful of starts under his belt, fight to save the car. He couldn't. He went sideways. _

_Damon reacted quickly, jerking the wheel to the left, intending to drive through the infield to avoid the crash. He lurched forward as Kenseth's car crashed into the rear of his. He fishtailed, fighting the wheel to keep the damage minimal, already cursing the fact that he had gone from being in position to finally win at Talladega – to win at all – to finishing at least a few laps down, if at all. _

_He was regaining control of the car when he was hit hard from the side. Another car hit him and then a third. He lost his bearings, couldn't figure out which way his car was facing, all the while fighting his wheel out of instinct. Another car hit him. He went airborne. _

_He was flipping. Over and over, metal crunching around him. He could see the stands, see the grass and the sky as it came around and around in one big blur. He felt nauseous. He felt like a rag doll, his body at the mercy of the laws of physics as his car tumbled down the straightway. He thought he saw the start/finish line. _

_24 laps to go. _

_His car came to a stop._

_His head hurt. _

_He smelled smoke. _

_He couldn't move his shoulder. Or his legs._

_It was hot. _

_There were people yelling. _

_Someone was calling his name. _

_There was fire. _

_He needed to move. _

_It was so hot._

_He needed to get out of the wreckage, away from the flames. _

_He couldn't move. _

_Who was calling his name? _

_He was really sleepy. _

_Everything really hurt. _

_It was so hot. _

_He closed his eyes. _

Damon gasped and sat bolt upright in his bunk, or as upright as he could, his head smacking the low ceiling. The crew member in the trunk below him, his gas man, grunted. Damon lay back on his pillow his heart racing, his breathing shallow. He threw an arm over his eyes and realized there was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.

The nightmares were coming more frequently. He wasn't sure how much of it was actually what happened and how much of it was pieced together from what he was told and what he had seen on replays of his accident, but it was the same dream, time and time again. One lap, he was fine, driving ever closer to a win at Talladega. The next lap, he was flipping through the infield.

He tried to draw in deep breaths to calm himself. It was stifling hot in his bunk. He kicked his blankets off, but it didn't help. The bunk space was small anyway and at that moment, it felt like it was growing ever smaller. He couldn't take it. He needed space. Air.

As quietly as he could, he slipped out of the bunk, trying not to wake his crew members as he padded to the front of the motor home. He grabbed the white t-shirt he had taken off and thrown onto one of the bench seats in the front of the home earlier before opening the door and stepping off the bus.

The air was a comfortable cool, the humidity low. Florida in mid-February felt a lot like Virginia in late April. He breathed in deep, trying to calm himself. He thought of the Valium he had tucked away in his duffel bag, but he didn't allow himself to give in to the temptation to turn around and dig the bottle out. He couldn't. Valium took care of a lot of his problems, but it messed with his motor skills, slowed down his reaction time. He couldn't be anything less than on top of his game for tomorrow's Duels. Or, he corrected himself, realizing it was after midnight, the Duels later that day. He closed his eyes, tilted his chin upward, and pulled air in through his nose, pushed it out through his mouth.

"Damon?"

Her voice was as angelic now as it had been four years ago. He opened his eyes and turned his head in the direction of her voice.

"Hey," he said quietly. "What are you doing up?"

"I have had way too much coffee," Elena answered. She looked comfortable in what could only be called a luxury lawn chair. It was wide and overly padded. "I woke up extra early to get some work done before we had to be at the airport. You witnessed Molly on the plane. And then it was go, go, go from the moment we arrived. Hence all the caffeine I've consumed and why I'm still awake now."

"Molly was pretty entertaining," Damon said, taking a few steps in Elena's direction. Elena snorted.

"That's a nice way to put it," she said. As Elena didn't travel much when she was with the Marcos, Molly had never been on a plane before. She had been terrified at takeoff, enchanted by the clouds and views for the first hour, and then a nightmare for the rest of the flight, once she grew bored. Elena had brought along plenty of things to entertain her, but none of them had held her attention. She wanted to run and play, things she couldn't do on a plane.

"The first hour was good," Damon reasoned, making Elena chuckle softly. She looked at him and could tell something was off.

"Your turn," she said. "Why are you awake? Your rule about getting a good night's sleep before a race no longer apply?" Damon sighed.

"Couldn't sleep," he admitted. He nodded towards the empty lawn chair nearby. "Mind if I pull up a seat?" Elena shook her head.

"There's plenty of grass to go around." Damon smiled at her and pulled the chair around so it was positioned next to Elena and then settled into it.

"Working on anything exciting?" Damon asked, trying to make conversation. Elena shrugged.

"Just reading a proposal from one of the sponsors about an event they want us to participate in in a couple of months."

"How's your motor home?" he asked.

"Full of Caroline's crap," Elena replied. Damon chuckled. While a number of drivers had their own motor homes for themselves and their families, he was sharing his with his team. It didn't make sense for him to have one to himself, with no family of his own. Caroline had declared that Elena and Molly would be bunking with her and Stefan, as she claimed she never saw Stefan during race weekends anyway. His parents had their own motor home, parked a few spaces down.

"I assume Molly is sleeping?" he asked. Elena picked up a baby monitor Damon hadn't noticed.

"Like a rock," she confirmed. "She wore herself out with all that entertaining on the plane and then running up and down the infield, over and over and over again."

"She looked like she was having fun," Damon commented. He had watched her for a while, playing with some of the other drivers' kids, laughing and running and having the time of her life. He had wanted to join her at one point. Her life looked a hell of a lot easier than his. Elena nodded.

"It will be good for her to travel like this," she said. "Once she gets used to the plane, of course. She's going to grow up the same way we did, traveling to race tracks on the weekends, seeing places, meeting people. I'm going to take her to the beach tomorrow. She'll love getting to play in the sand again."

"Did you take her to the beach a lot when you were out west?" Damon asked curiously.

"Fairly often, yeah," Elena nodded. "We were about an hour, hour and a half from the beach, so it was usually something we did on weekends. She loves the water. She was practically born knowing how to swim. I put her in swim lessons as soon as she was old enough, but she's a natural. I don't let her swim in the ocean, of course. She's too little. She loves to play in the surf though."

"Maybe she'll turn out to be an Olympic swimmer," Damon mused.

"Right now, she wants to be Elsa when she grows up." Damon furrowed his brow.

"Who?"

"Elsa," Elena clarified. "The princess from _Frozen._"

"Oh, that blond chick that freezes everything," Damon said, vaguely remembering commercials for the movie. Elena laughed softly.

"That would be the one," she agreed. She cocked her head a little as she looked at Damon. She saw the faint dark circles under his eyes, the worry lines. He wasn't quite 30, but he looked older than he was in that moment. "Any reason in particular that you couldn't sleep?" she asked.

Damon wanted to tell her something about his bunk being uncomfortable or someone was snoring, anything but the truth. He found himself unable to think of anything other than telling her the truth, however. There was something about her, some underlying magnetic pull that still existed despite their years apart and how their relationship ended, that pushed him to confide in her.

"I had a nightmare," he admitted quietly, as though he were afraid of being overheard. And, in a way, he was. They were in the infield, and while teams were sectioned off from the media and general public, there was still plenty of opportunity for someone to eavesdrop. He didn't need the press or his fellow drivers knowing he had bad dreams about Talladega. "I have them sometimes, but they've been happening more often lately."

"What happens in the nightmare?" Elena asked, pushing gently for more information.

"It's the Talladega crash," he confessed. "I don't know how much of it is what I remember and how much of it my mind is making up, but it's the exact same dream, every time. There are 35 laps left in the race. My spotter and crew chief are talking to me, Kenseth has teamed up to draft with me. We move into the five and six spots and I'm thinking I've got a chance to go for the win with just 25 laps left. And then a lapped car loses control. I manage to avoid it, even though Kenseth gets me in the rear, and I just about get my car under control when I start getting hit over and over. Then I'm airborne. I can see the infield and the sky as all the sheet metal rips away while I flip down the front stretch. I flip past the start/finish line and think '24 more laps to go.'

"I finally come to a stop, and there's this moment where I realize I'm not flipping anymore. Then my head hurts and I smell smoke. Other things start to hurt and I can feel the flames, see their reflection off my dashboard." He stopped and shook his head, suddenly remembering another detail from the accident. "My dashboard was intact. My car was in pieces, but my dashboard didn't have so much as a crack in it. I didn't remember that until just now." Elena nodded in understanding. She knew Damon was telling her more than he had really ever shared with anyone about his accident. Why he was telling her was a different matter.

"Then what happens?" she prompted. Damon had a faraway look in his eye.

"I can feel the heat from the flames, see them. It's really hot. I know that I need to move, that I need to get away from the flames. But I can't. I can't move. I don't panic, don't really react. I just think that I need to get away from the flames. I hear people calling my name and I start to think about how sleepy I am. There's a lot of smoke and everything just hurts really bad. People keep yelling my name and I just… Go to sleep. That's when I wake up – right after I go to sleep."

"You said you've been having these nightmares more and more frequently?" Elena asked after a few moments.

"Yeah," Damon admitted. "This is the third time this week."

"Think it has anything to do with Daytona?"

Damon didn't answer right away. He didn't understand how Elena could still see through him. They hadn't been together in four years, but there was still something between them. He had no idea what it was, if he should even try to figure it out, but he knew it was there. He didn't need it to be any clearer than the fact that he was sitting outside her motor home, confiding in her about things he didn't even discuss with his family.

"It has everything to do with Daytona," he admitted. He blew out a breath and ran his hand through his hair. "I'm scared, Elena. Not of racing or being back behind the wheel but of… Not having it. Of not being able to compete, not being able to race for the checkered flag week in and week out. All I need is to get out on that track and fail. I can't fail at this, Elena. Racing is all I have."

Elena's heart skipped a beat, but she didn't know why. Her instinct was to reach out to Damon, cover his hand with hers and offer him any sort of comfort she could. But, she didn't. She couldn't. She could have, of course. It was as simple as reaching her hand out to him. But she couldn't deny the inexplicable pull she still felt towards him, despite the fact that deep down, she was still angry with him.

"It's not all you have," she said. "I know things have been rough between you and your parents, between you and Stefan. But, they love you, Damon. You would have to be blind not to see that." Damon fiddled with his fingers.

"I know they do," he admitted. "It's just… I worked really hard at pushing them away for a long time. It's hard to come back from that."

"You nearly died, Damon," Elena said carefully. "A near death experience puts a lot in perspective. I don't think they're as upset with you as you think they are."

"Mom's not," Damon agreed. "She's just… Overbearing. She wants to baby me, fix everything. On one hand, it's kind of nice to have someone there, trying to take care of me. On the other, it's really annoying. She's always turning up at my apartment, leaving food, hunting me down at the shop and asking me if I'm feeling okay, telling me I need a haircut or that it's time for a shave.

"And Dad… I don't know where I stand with him. One minute he's riding my ass, the next he's clapping me on the shoulder and saying good luck. I know he's my boss and that he stuck his neck on the line to give me a chance, but it would be nice if he would just let up for a day, you know? Give me some room to breathe, to make decisions without wondering if I'm making the right one. He's got so many rules that I can't keep them all straight. It's easier to not give a damn than it is to try and live up to his expectations.

"Stefan… When I was recovering, he would come into my room for five minutes, not say much, and then come up with an excuse to leave. Even when I was able to come home, he would drop by Mom and Dad's, but he wouldn't really visit with me. He would stay in the kitchen, or go to Dad's study. If he did spare a few minutes for me, he was gone before he got comfortable. Now, we have these weird moments where we talk like we're brothers again and then he turns around the next day and either avoids me or is lecturing me about something."

Damon blew out a breath and shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he told Elena. "I'm tired and apparently the dam has broken, so I'm rambling. You don't need to hear about all my problems." This time, Elena couldn't help herself. She reached over and covered Damon's hand with hers. It was an innocent gesture from the outside, but both felt the electricity that passed through them.

"It's okay," she told him. "I'm glad you're talking about it. You need to." Damon fought the urge to turn his hand over and link his fingers with Elena's. Her hand over his felt better than it should. But, it was innocent. He needed to do innocent with her. Holding hands was too intimate for whatever they were. He wouldn't really call them friends, but they were – something.

"Can I speak frankly?" she asked.

"Could I stop you?" Damon countered, knowing Elena was going to say whatever she was planning to say. She smiled.

"No," she admitted, getting him to chuckle.

"Then, by all means." Elena took a deep breath. Someone had to give it to Damon straight, and it may as well be her. It had to be her – she was the only person he had confided his fears in.

"You nearly died, Damon," she started. "One lap, you were headed for the front of the pack. The next, you were being pulled out of a burning heap of metal. Your mom, dad, Stefan… All of them were there. They saw it. I know how bad it looked on TV. I can't begin to fathom what it was like in person, let alone how your mother felt when it happened. I know how I felt when Molly was in the NICU and when I realized she was allergic to nuts. It was horrible, easily the most afraid I've ever been. Whether she was a newborn or in her twenties, I would still feel paralyzing terror if something happened to her.

"I know you hadn't spoken to your family in years before the Talladega crash. I know you pushed them away when they tried to talk to you. I know, from personal experience, that you changed your phone number, ignored emails. I don't know why you did any of that – and I don't think they do either – but they didn't stop loving you, just because you decided not to be a part of the family. Imagine if the roles were reversed. Imagine if it had been Stefan that crashed at Talladega and you had to watch it, had to wonder if your brother was going to live through surgery.

"The worrying and fretting over you your mom does? That's how she makes sure you're okay. The tough love from your dad? That's how he makes sure you're okay. That's how they reassure themselves that you are still alive and well. And the distance with Stefan? That's because he doesn't know how to act around you. You don't see it and I don't think they do either. But I do, because I'm on the outside. They walk on eggshells around you because they are afraid that the first time something goes wrong, you're going to take off again and they're going to lose you all over again."

Damon was silent. It wasn't that Elena had told him anything new. He had enough sense to have figured out everything she had said for himself. He had plenty of time to think about things while he was lying in a bed, trying to regain range of motion in his shoulder. But, he had opted not to face any of it. They had largely swept the last four years under the rug, didn't mention them, save for the occasional jab from Stefan. It was easier to pretend they never happened than to confront them. He and Elena were doing the same thing, come to think of it.

"I'm sorry," Elena said, taking his silence to mean he was upset with her. Damon shook his head and before he could stop himself, turned his hand over and laced his fingers through hers. He squeezed her hand. God, it felt good to hold her hand again.

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," he said. "You didn't say anything I don't already know. It's just – hard when you hear someone else call you out on it."

"I just wanted to make the point that you aren't alone," Elena said. "You have more than racing."

"If I don't do well this season, I won't have that," Damon mumbled. Elena squeezed his hand the way he had done hers. His hand felt different than it used to. It was rougher, his skin having lost some of its youthfulness from when they were together. Yet, the simple act of linking their hands felt as familiar and as right as it had years ago. She wished she could remember the last time Damon had held her hand. It had been when she had thought they had a lifetime of handholding to go and so she hadn't thought it as significant then.

"You are a great driver, Damon," she started. He snorted.

"I haven't won a race since Texas almost two years ago. I've only had seven top 10 finishes in the last two seasons. Seven, Elena. That doesn't say 'great driver' to anyone." Elena sighed.

"You are a great driver, Damon," she said again. "You have all the talent and skill you need. Forgive me for being blunt, but you can't perform well on the track if you're not taking care of yourself off the track. And it's not a secret that you have done anything but take care of yourself off the track since you went to drive for the Mikealsons. If you want this, if you want to be successful on the track, you have to put your head in the game." She squeezed her hand yet again. "And, you have to believe in yourself."

Damon swallowed past the lump that had formed in his chest. He hadn't felt this vulnerable since – well, since the first time he made love to Elena. It was neither of their first times, but it had been the first time he had been in love and had wanted her to feel that, see that side of him.

"I'm trying," he said, although deep down, he wondered just how much he actually was trying. "It's a lot harder than one would think."

"I know," Elena admitted, thinking of the hours she had spent wondering how she was going to be a mother when she was so utterly unprepared. She had been sure she would fail, that she would forget to support Molly's head or not know if she needed to be fed or held or changed. Even now, she had her doubts, but her instincts had kicked in as soon as Molly had been born via emergency c-section and together, she and Molly had figured it out.

"Thanks for listening," Damon said. He made himself let go of her hand and roughly rubbed his now free hand over his face. "If you don't mind, can we keep this between us? My dad already thinks I'm unstable. He doesn't need to know I'm having nightmares too."

"Of course," Elena said. She opened her mouth to say something more, but the sound of Molly whimpering filled the air. She picked up the baby monitor. "That's my signal," she said, already standing. "Try to get some rest, Damon. You've got a big day tomorrow."

"I'm going to sit our here for a few more minutes," he replied. "I'll see you in the morning." Elena nodded.

"See you in the morning," she agreed. She keyed in the code for the motor home and a moment later, she was inside. Damon remained where he was, already missing Elena's company.

* * *

><p>Elena absentmindedly ran a brush through her hair, watching Molly through the windshield of the motor home. She had begged to go outside almost as soon as she woke up and finally, once there was coffee brewed, Elena relented. Ginny and Giuseppe had relieved her a half hour ago when they emerged from their motor home, allowing her to get dressed and ready for the day. Molly was still in her nightgown, her hair all over her head, but she was having fun, kicking a ball around with, of all people, Damon. She wondered if he had slept at all last night.<p>

"Do you really think he has absolutely no idea?" Caroline asked. She sat down at the small kitchen table to put on her shoes.

"I don't know," Elena sighed as she watched the pair. Damon had emerged from his motor home a few minutes ago, exchanged a very brief hello with his parents, and almost right away joined Molly, casually kicking her ball back and forth with her. There was a small smile on his face, she noted, that grew a little bigger each time Molly laughed. "He's so good with her, so natural. I want to think that on some level, he knows."

"Stefan thinks he does," Caroline admitted. "Based on things Damon has said."

"Damon has a lot on his mind," Elena replied. "Even if he does have an idea that Molly is his, he isn't taking the time to think about it right now."

"When are you going to tell him, Elena?" Caroline asked bluntly. She had played along with Elena and the rest of the Salvatores. But now that she was having her own child, she was struggling with Damon being deprived of the opportunity to be Molly's father. Every child deserved a father and Damon deserved to at least have the chance to decide if he wanted to be one, regardless of how unqualified his behavior made him.

"After Daytona," Elena said with an absoluteness that hadn't been there before. "He needs to get through the 500. As soon as the race is behind him, I'm going to tell him. I can't keep putting it off."

"You have to tell him," Caroline said firmly. "Even if the 500 doesn't go well for him, you still have to tell him." Elena nodded.

"I know," she said softly. She watched as Molly ran towards Damon who scooped her into his arms and started to tickle her. She started to laugh and squirm. He let her go and she ran away from him, stopping several feet away and laughing. While Molly was too little to understand, Elena was sure on some level, the child knew Damon was her father, or was at least someone important. As vivacious as she was, she was shy when she first met people. With Damon though, she had bonded with him almost instantly.

"Come on," Caroline said, standing. "Breakfast is ready and you know how Ginny gets if we keep everyone waiting." Elena looked at Caroline who suddenly looked a bit green as soon as she pushed open the motor home's door.

"You okay, Care?" she asked. Caroline breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth.

"Ginny made eggs," she said in an undertone, glaring at the spread Ginny had laid out on their picnic table through the home's window. It was Ginny's tradition, to make a big breakfast before qualifying and race days. "Eggs make me sick these days." Elena smirked.

"Want me to cover for you?" she asked. "I'll tell her we had sushi for dinner last night if you need to make a run for it."

"You're the best friend, ever," Caroline declared. She took another breath and her color returned a bit. She nodded once. "Okay. Let's go." The two women left the motor home.

"Molly!" Elena called. "Breakfast!"

"Gigi made eggs and bacon!" Molly sung out, skipping towards the table. Damon followed slowly. Elena gave him a small smile, hoping it offered him reassurance. After last night, she knew more about why he was uncomfortable being around his family. As they settled around the table, Damon ending up at the end, with Molly beside him and Elena on her other side, Elena could sense both surprise and relief that Damon was joining the family for breakfast.

They started passing dishes around, loading up their plates, Elena helping Molly with hers. Stefan and Giuseppe were already talking about the day's Duels, Damon listening intently, but not adding to the conversation. Elena glanced at him. The faint circles under his eyes were darker and she knew he had slept very little after he woke up last night. She knew too that his nerves were more pronounced this morning than they were last night.

"Oh!" Ginny suddenly exclaimed, standing. "I forgot…" She didn't say what she forgot, but she entered the motor home and returned a few moments later with a bottle of ketchup. "Here you go, Damon," she said, placing the bottle in front of him. "I know you like ketchup on your eggs. For reasons I will never understand." Damon smiled at her and, Elena noted, it was genuine.

"Thanks, Mom," he said, reaching for the bottle. He was the only one in the family who liked ketchup on his eggs, a combination that disgusted the rest of them. Even Elena had thought it was gross when they were dating. Beside him, Molly moved so she was sitting on the picnic bench on her knees, her princess nightgown pooling around her.

"Can I has some too, please?" she asked Damon as she watched him squirt ketchup on his eggs. Caroline jumped up from the table suddenly and sprinted towards their motor home, Stefan on her heels as Elena said something to Ginny about eating bad sushi the night before. "I like catch-sup on my eggs too."

Damon looked at Molly. Sitting there beside him, her blue eyes on his as she waited expectantly for ketchup, he knew. He was surer than he had ever been about anything in his life.

Molly was his daughter.

* * *

><p><strong>He knows! And I think its fair to say that really, he's known the whole time. He just can't deny it any longer. Now, he has to figure out how to deal with it. <strong>

**I hope, too, that he and Elena's conversation and his nightmare were some good insight for you all as to what happened over the last few months/years. Damon is right - everyone is sort of ignoring what happened in favor of keeping the peace. A watched pot never boils, but an unwatched pot... Those suckers boil and then they boil over. Trust me - I forgot about a boiling pot on the stove just today and had quite the mess to clean up. **

**Please let me know what you think!  
><strong>

**I can't wait to tell the rest of this story!**


	12. Qualified Anger

**Goodness! I PROMISE I didn't mean to go so long between updates! The holidays are so busy with festivities and family that I haven't had much time to sit down and write/edit. But here we go - Christmas and an update! **

**THANK YOU for your reactions to the last two chapters! It's funny how when you write a story, the characters and the storyline take on a mind of their own. I actually had envisioned Damon finding out in a very different way and reaching far worse, but as I've been writing, the innocent breakfast scene just made sense. **

**I'll quit babbling and let you read. Merry Christmas!**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Vampire Diaries.**

* * *

><p>He would start the Daytona 500 fifteenth.<p>

He did it. He had qualified. And, all things considered, he had qualified well.

More than that, he had powered through the day without giving anything away. He had finished breakfast without incident and managed to keep up appearances. He had excused himself quickly, not really missed thanks to Caroline's poor cover up story about her pregnancy, and had gone back to his motor home, to reconcile what deep down, he knew all along.

After deciding on a course of action, he got dressed, made his press rounds, and then checked out of everything except the task at hand – his Daytona Duel. He was still high on adrenaline from the race. It felt good, racing again. He was thankful Matt Donovan had been in the first Duel of the day, knowing Matt wouldn't have hesitated to put him in a wall if the opportunity arose. He wasn't too worried about Matt at the actual 500 in a few days. One driver getting loose was all it took to cause a mass pileup and Donovan wasn't going to run the risk of getting himself caught up in a crash. There were plenty of other races for him and Damon to swap paint.

Now that the Duel was behind him and his qualifying position was locked in, he had to find Elena. She wasn't hard to spot. She was waiting patiently for one of his teammates, Jeff, who had clinched the pole position, to finish up an interview. He waited, watching. As soon as she told Jeff goodbye, he made his move.

"Elena."

She turned at the sound of his voice.

"Damon, hey," she said with a smile. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks," he said shortly. "We need to talk." He watched as Elena's friendly expression turned to one of confusion.

"Okay," she agreed. "What's up?" Damon shook his head.

"Not here," he said. "Come on." He turned on his heel and left Elena to follow him.

"Damon, what's going on?" she asked as she hurried to keep up with him. He was striding with purpose, his gait long. He didn't answer, leading her through the garage area. They arrived at his hauler, empty now that the Duel was over and the car secured away in the garage area. He yanked open a side door and went in. Elena followed. "Damon, what…?" she tried again. He flipped on a light and turned to her.

"Molly is mine, isn't she?"

Elena's sharp intake of air and the look of surprise on her face told him everything. Still, he waited, his arms crossed as he leaned against a toolbox, for Elena to give him an answer. He needed to hear her say it.

His question hung between them for what felt like ages. He watched as Elena processed the question, realizing he knew the truth. She opened and shut her mouth, swallowed hard. Took a deep breath.

"Yes," she finally whispered, the word sounding choked, like she was struggling to get it out. Damon pursed his lips and took a moment before responding. He was angry, but he was trying to keep his anger in check.

"My family knows. They have known the whole time." This time, Elena just nodded.

"Damon…" she started, searching for words to explain. She didn't know what to do, how to respond. Damon was angry, rightly so. She knew it from his short sentences and the way he stood almost entirely still, his arms crossed over his chest, his jaw locked.

"When is her birthday?" he asked.

"March 10th," Elena answered. Damon nodded once, doing the math in his head. Her birthday was in three weeks.

"How early was she born?"

"Seven weeks."

"August," he said. "You got pregnant in August." Elena nodded. They both knew when and where Molly was conceived. They hadn't had sex in nearly a month. Damon had just told her he was going to drive for the Mikealsons. They fought. It was loud and passionate. They had sex, angry, rough, passionate sex. Then, they fought some more. That was the last time they spoke.

Damon left for Florida the next morning.

"It was my fault," she said softly. "With everything going on, I forgot to take my birth control a few times." She looked at him. "How did you find out?"

"I figured it out for myself," Damon spat out. "She asked me for ketchup for her eggs. The blue eyes, the nut allergies… I should have figured it out sooner, but I've been distracted." He rounded on Elena. "Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you hoping I was dumb enough not to realize she has my eyes, my allergies, and my weird taste buds?"

"I was going to tell you," Elena said. She took a step towards Damon, but didn't dare come any closer. He reminded her of a cornered wild animal, ready to pounce, but biding his time, sizing up the situation before he attacked. "After the 500, I was going to tell you everything. I wanted to give you the chance to get through that before I dropped this on you too."

"So you were being considerate," Damon quipped. "How nice." Elena sighed.

"Damon, I know you're angry," Elena started.

"Damn right I am!" Damon burst out. "I have a three year old kid I knew nothing about! My parents, my brother, my sister-in-law – everyone who is supposed to be my family knew and didn't say a word. You, the woman I thought was the love of my life, didn't say a word. My kid has been growing up a couple thousand miles away, and I've been none the wiser. Is that why you really moved to San Bernardino, Elena? To keep me from being a part of Molly's life?"

"No!" Elena erupted. She knew Damon was angry. But, she was angry too. She had been for a long, long time. "I moved to San Bernardino because you left! You took off to Florida without a backwards glance. Not a goodbye, not a see you around, not even a nice knowing you. You just left! I didn't know I was pregnant when I moved away. I was too devastated from the loss of my relationship to realize the nausea and exhaustion were because I was pregnant. As soon as I found out, I tried to tell you. You wouldn't answer the phone. You wouldn't reply to emails."

"Don't you dare blame this on me," Damon shot back. He kept his voice at a normal level, but it was laced with venom.

"None of us are in the right!" Elena cried out. "We have all made mistakes."

"Keep your voice down," Damon hissed. "The last thing I need is for it to get out that I've got an illegitimate kid." Elena took a step back, feeling like she had been slapped. Despite everything that had happened between them, she wanted to believe Molly had been conceived from love, even if that love didn't last. Hearing Damon call their daughter "illegitimate" hurt in a way she hadn't expected it to. Still, she took a deep breath and pushed forward, working to keep her voice down.

"You took off. I gave up trying to tell you. Your family gave up. Even my own parents gave up. Maybe we didn't try hard enough, but we did try, Damon. When you wouldn't take our calls, Stefan cornered you at Dover. You told him to go to hell and when he wouldn't budge, you took a swing at him!"

Damon didn't say anything. He remembered the incident Elena was referring to. Stefan had sought him out at Dover, cornered him in the garage, and told him they needed to talk, that there was something he needed to know. Damon hadn't wanted to hear anything he had to say, sure it was the same song and dance he had given him when he announced he was leaving Salvatore Racing. He could remember Stefan saying something about Elena needing him, but he had told him to go away and when his little brother stood his ground, he took a swing, missing only because Stefan ducked just in time.

"My own mother even tried to tell you, Damon! You had security escort her away!"

He remembered that too. Miranda Gilbert had banged on the door of his motor home the morning of a race at Texas, demanding that he talk to her. He had called security without bothering to hear what she had to say and within minutes, she was being led away.

"None of that changes the fact that someone could have told me," he said. "Someone should have told me! Hell, you've been back in Mystic Falls for over a month! You could have told me anytime in the last six weeks!"

"I know!" Elena said. "God, Damon, do you think I don't know that? You have no idea how hard this is…"

"No," Damon said cutting her off again. "You don't get to tell me things have been hard for you. I have no sympathy for you. You chose to keep her from me. You chose to be a single mother. Any struggles you have had in the last few years are all on you." Tears welled up in Elena's eyes.

"You have no idea how hard the last four years have been," she said again. Her voice was low, even, full of malice. "While you were out drinking and sleeping your way through Daytona Beach, I was trying to reconcile the fact that the man I loved, that I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with, had turned his back on me. I had to deal with the fact that no matter how much I wanted you to know you had a daughter, I couldn't get through to you to tell you. I couldn't tell you I needed you.

"And you know what the worst part of it was?" Elena continued. "When Molly was born, I thought my baby was going to die! I tried to call you then, too. I even called the Mikaelsons in an attempt to give you a message, but they wouldn't listen to me either, gave me some crap about privacy. I tried to call you so you would at least get to tell her goodbye!"

Damon didn't know what to say. His blood was boiling with anger, yet he still felt guilty, watching Elena's tears fall, realizing she had been largely alone. It made him all that much angrier that she could still elicit that sort of response from him when he was so furious.

"Does Molly know?" he asked, surprising Elena with the change of direction. Elena shook her head and wiped away her tears, only to have them replaced by more.

"No," she said. "She doesn't know you're her father."

"Who does she think is her father?" he asked. He didn't know how the mind of a three year old worked. "Or does she think she's a product of Immaculate Conception?"

"As far as Molly knows, her father is a man that loves her very much, he just can't be with her. She hasn't asked who or why, not yet. She's just asked where her daddy is."

Damon looked at Elena for a long moment. She had every reason, every opportunity, to fill Molly's head with stories about her father being nothing more than a mistake. And yet, she had told Molly her father loved her, even if he wasn't around. He hated that he was grateful for that. He sighed and shook his head.

"I can't deal with this right now," he said, realizing he needed more than the few hours between breakfast and now to think about things.

"I know it's a lot to take in…," Elena started. "And Damon, I'm so sorry…"

"I don't want to hear your apologies," he snapped, anger returning full force. "I don't want to hear your excuses. I want to get through the next few days and finish the Daytona 500 with my car intact."

"Damon, I don't expect…"

"Are you not hearing me?" Damon asked, cutting her off again. "I don't want to deal with this right now. I can't deal with this right now. Which means as far as my parents, Caroline, and anyone else who knows about Molly's parentage is concerned, I still don't know. I'm still oblivious, self-centered Damon. You're pretty damn good at keeping secrets, so I assume you can keep this between us. You owe me that."

It took Elena everything she had to nod in agreement. Damon didn't want anyone to know he knew. As far as she could tell, he didn't even want to consider the fact that Molly was his right then. She knew he needed time. He needed space. She would give him those things, but not at the cost of her daughter's feelings.

"I won't say anything," she said. "But, Damon, you won't either. Not to Molly. As far as she's concerned, you are her friend. I don't know if you've realized it, but she's already crazy about you. I'm not asking you to be her father. I'm not asking you for anything, at all. We've been doing just fine by ourselves. But, you will not treat her differently. You won't tell her you're her father until we've talked and figured things out. You can avoid her all weekend, for all I care. But if your paths happen to cross, I will not tolerate you being anything other than polite to her. I will not allow you to hurt her, especially because you're mad at me. Do you understand me?"

Damon stared Elena down.

"She's my daughter," he said. The words felt weird coming out of his mouth. "I'm not going to hurt her."

With that, Damon left the hauler, leaving Elena alone. She waited until she was sure he was gone before she slumped to the floor and cried.

* * *

><p>If there was one thing Elena had perfected over the years, it was pulling herself together and putting one step in front of the other for Molly's sake. She gave herself fifteen minutes after Damon's departure to sit and just cry, all the anger and hurt and guilt from the last few years coming to the surface. She was terrified of what would happen next. Would Damon decide to be a father? Would he turn his back on Molly? And, worst of all, what if he tried to take Molly away from her? Surely he wouldn't, but he was angry and she didn't put anything past him.<p>

After crying her allotted quarter of an hour, she took another fifteen minutes to pull herself together before she went to retrieve Molly from the teenage daughter of one of their drivers who had offered to babysit the smaller kids on weekends to save up for her half of a graduation trip she wanted to take in the spring.

She had skipped returning to the motor home, called a cab, and took Molly to dinner and the beach. She hadn't eaten much, her stomach a mess, but the one-on-one time with her baby girl did wonders for her. When they got back to the track, she hadn't been able to escape Ginny and Caroline who were giddy over Caroline's baby news, now public knowledge as Ginny was too smart for them. Her elation over another grandchild proved to keep her attention away from Elena. She would have surely realized something was wrong and lying to Ginny was next to impossible.

Once Molly was in bed, she slipped way, asking Caroline and Stefan to keep an ear out for Molly in the event that she woke up. They asked where she was going and she made up an excuse about needing to use the makeshift business center set up in the garage. She set out on foot with no real destination in mind, and ended up perched on the tower of one of the pit stalls.

The last four years had simultaneously been the best and worst of her life. Being Molly's mother was the single greatest thing that had ever happened to her. She loved that little girl more than anything. She would do whatever she had to do to ensure Molly was happy, safe, and knew she was loved, wanted. She wouldn't trade a single thing that had happened, as it had all brought her Molly.

But being a single mother was hard.

She had found out two weeks after moving to San Bernardino that she was pregnant. She hadn't hesitated to try and tell Damon. In hindsight, she realized she had foolishly thought he would come back to her if he knew. It was shallow and naïve, but it was what she had believed would happen.

Her breakup with Damon had devastated her. They hadn't officially broke up. The words have never been said. But, after yet another argument, he took off to Florida to drive for the Mikealsons and she never heard from him again. He just left.

She knew they were having a hard time. She was just out of college and trying to figure out her next move. Damon was chomping at the bit to move into the Sprint Cup series and was furious at his father for not giving him the chance. But, she had thought they loved one another enough to make it through the rough patch. Even when she was screaming at him for being irresponsible and hurting his family, she had thought he loved her enough to fight for them.

But then, he left. No goodbyes, not even a note. He just left.

San Bernardino had been a lifeline. She had planned to stay in Mystic Falls when her parents made their announcement that her father had taken a Chief of Surgery job out west. Damon was there, her friends. She had a life. But then, when Damon left, it seemed like the only right thing to do – go somewhere new and start over. She had no idea she would be doing that with a child in tow.

About a month after finding out she was pregnant and the realization that Damon wasn't going to be a part of it starting to sink in, she pulled herself up by her metaphorical bootstraps and tackled the idea of parenthood head on. She knew the Marcos' team was headquartered in San Bernardino and she knew they needed marketing help. She went to them, pitched her plan to turn their operation around, and got the job. She found her own apartment, much to her parents' dismay, and slowly, started to make it into a home. She was determined to do it all on her own. So determined that she pushed herself to the limit, day in and day out.

Her blood pressure had been high throughout the pregnancy. Her doctor had continuously advised her to rest, to stop pushing herself, slow down and just be pregnant for a while. But Elena couldn't slow down. She had to move forward, past a man who didn't love her as much as she thought he did, past a man who didn't want to be found, who wouldn't know he had a daughter on the way. If she stopped, she would fall apart.

She had been at work when it happened. She was in a meeting when she suddenly felt lightheaded and weak. She slumped over in her chair, unconscious, and when she came to, her mother had been there with a tear-stained face, letting her know her blood pressure had spiked and that they had to take the baby in an effort to save both their lives. She had demanded to see her daughter and had fallen apart all over again at the sight of the helpless little girl, hooked to tubes in an incubator, fighting for her life.

The guilt she had over not telling Damon about Molly had nothing on the guilt she still felt about how Molly had entered the world. She should have taken better care of herself, listened to the doctor, accepted help when her parents and the Salvatores offered. She didn't, though, and her daughter had nearly died.

Slowly, Molly started to improve. Other than being small for her age, she had, by some miracle, escaped any major side effects from being born too early. When she had been able to bring Molly home, she had an oxygen tank at first. Elena had devoted herself entirely to caring for the baby, and was able to thanks to support from the Marcos. She had finally gone back to work when Molly was six months old, trusting Molly to her mother's care during the day. It had taken a lot of courage for Elena to finally enroll the girl in a daycare program a few days a week when she turned a year old, but it was the right thing, for all involved.

Being a single mother was hard. Her own mother helped when she could, but Miranda had her own life, not to mention they were struggling with Jeremy's addiction. So, she shouldered as much of the burden as she possible could so her own mother didn't have to. She woke up extra early to get ready for the day and make breakfast before she woke Molly up. She rushed through a morning routine of getting her to daycare or to her mother's house, depending on the day, and then to work. She picked Molly at the end of the day and spent one-on-one time with her, made her dinner, gave her a bath, put her to bed. Then, she would stay up until well into the night, finishing up work or else doing chores around the house. It was exhausting and, admittedly, lonely.

Her brother's death had been another setback. Again, she had to put one foot in front of the other for Molly, no matter how heartbroken she was. She had to be there for her parents, particularly her mother, who were devastated, while dealing with her own deep grief. She was sure her father's decision to retire early had a lot to do with Jeremy's death. They felt the loss profusely and needed to move on, start over somewhere, much as she had needed a fresh slate after Damon left.

Being back in Mystic Falls was good. She didn't regret the decision to move home. She knew in her heart she was where she needed to be. She knew too that this was going to happen. Damon was going to find out, and he wasn't going to react well. It was time though. This had gone on for far too long, far longer than she ever intended it to.

In the most perfect of worlds, Molly would have had both her and Damon. They had talked about marriage, kids. At one time, Damon had wanted those things. She would give anything for Molly to have a real family, a family with a mother and father who loved each other, who adored her. That was no longer an option, at least not with Damon.

Her next best scenario was that Damon would step up and be a father to Molly. She knew he was capable of it. His life was a mess right now, but if he chose to, he could be a wonderful father to Molly. She had known Damon when he was capable of expressing his love, of being the good guy. He could be the guy again. If he wanted to.

Then, there was the very likely possibility that Damon would want nothing to do with Molly. His life was, in fact, a mess. _He _was a mess. Adding a child to that equation could be a recipe for disaster. It was the outcome she wasn't sure how to deal with. If Damon decided he wanted nothing to do with Molly, she didn't know how she would continue to work with Damon, how she was going to be able to face him and not want to claw his eyes out for turning his back on the most perfect little girl. Of course, if he did decide not to be in Molly's life, she only had herself to blame.

No matter what, she had to protect Molly. She couldn't let Molly know Damon was her father until Damon had decided what he wanted. If he did decide to be a part of Molly's life, she would have to be careful, be sure that he was there and that he wasn't going to go anywhere before they told Molly anything. It was too much to think about right then. She had to take Damon's approach, for now, and just get through the rest of the weekend.

She breathed deep before deciding she had been gone long enough. She carefully climbed down the ladder and started back the motor home. Had she been paying any attention to her surroundings, she would have seen Damon, sitting high in the stands, lost in his own thoughts.

* * *

><p><strong>So, Damon's reaction... He's definitely angry. But, I think it's safe to say, he's definitely some other things too. He's been interesting to write so far. <strong>

**I really wanted to give some more insight into Elena too. Damon left her. There have been lots of questions about what happened to them. He left her, plain and simple. He was there one day, gone the next. That's going to be something that's explored a lot in future updates. I know its hard to feel sympathy for Elena, but she's had it rough the last few years too. Like she said, all of them have made mistakes. **

**Anyway, I'd LOVE to know what you think! And I promise I won't take so long between updates next time!**


	13. Green Flag Cookies

**Happy first day of 2015! Let's make this the best year yet, shall we? **

**Thank you so much for your reactions to the last chapter! It's so great reading your thoughts and feedback, especially on who you sympathize with and what you predict will happen. I love it! **

**Remember how we left off with Elena headed back to the infield, not seeing Damon in the stands? Well, here is Damon in the stand - his point of view on things. **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Vampire Diaries.**

* * *

><p>He had a kid.<p>

He had a kid who would be three years old in just over two weeks.

He had an almost three year old kid he didn't know a thing about until approximately fifteen hours ago.

It was too much to even begin to wrap his head around.

Deep down, he thought he knew all along. It was painfully obvious now. Molly was a carbon copy with brunette hair. How had he been around her all this time and not figured it out sooner?

He knew why. He was too wrapped up in himself, too focused on his looming return to the racetrack and trying to convince himself he wasn't terrified, to realize what was right in front of him: a tiny little girl who looked just like him.

Once more sitting high in the stands of Daytona in the middle of the night, he tried to recall every detail he knew about Molly.

She had his eyes, his high cheekbones and sharp jawline. Her hair was long and hung in loose, natural waves, just like Elena's. She almost always wore a bow and he didn't think he had ever seen her in something besides a dress, save for her nightgown that morning. He had the impression she wore dresses by choice, not because her mother forced her into them each morning. She was the very definition of a little girl, sugar and spice and all that was nice.

She was petite, small for her age. Elena was petite as well, but he wondered if Molly's small stature had anything to do with her being born seven weeks early. How long had she been in the NICU? What did she go through while she was in there? Why was she born so early in the first place? Had his parents visited her? Those were all questions he would have to find the answers to.

How old had she been when she took her first steps? What was her first word? Did she sleep through the night? Or did she cry for hours? She went to school. Which school was it? There weren't many in Mystic Falls to choose from. Was it a good one? Was she learning things? Did she have any birth defects? She didn't seem to. She seemed exceptionally bright, curious. But maybe there were things he couldn't see. There couldn't be though. She seemed perfect. Perfect and whole and his.

She was allergic to tree nuts, just like him. She went into anaphylactic shock and had her first reaction when she was just 18 months old, Elena had told him that day in the kitchen at Salvatore Racing. How did Elena make sure she didn't eat nuts when Molly wasn't in her care? She mentioned a medical ID bracelet that day in the break room. Did the new one come in? Was Molly wearing it? She liked ketchup on her eggs and was already showing a fascination with driving race cars. He had too, at her age.

That made him wonder what else she did that was like him. Did she bounce out of bed, bright-eyed and bushy tailed like he did, or at least like he used to? Or was she slower to wake up, cranky for the first few minutes of the day, like Elena? Did she like pumpkin butter on her toast? Did she turn her nose up at pickles? Did she love spicy foods? Had Elena ever thought to give her pumpkin butter on her toast? He was sure Molly had been offered pickles. Elena loved them. But he doubted she had been exposed to much spicy food. Elena wasn't really a fan.

He wondered what her favorite book was, her favorite TV show, her favorite song. He was curious about her first birthday party, her second one. Surely she would be having a third. Would he be invited? Would he go if he was? What sort of gift did one get a three year old? Something without small parts, he reasoned, so she wouldn't choke. At least he thought that sounded like something he had heard once.

He had absolutely no idea how to be a father. He assumed no one really knew how to be a parent until they actually were one. People usually had time to get used to the idea that they were going to be parents. They had nine whole months, more if they planned for it, to read books and Google things and ask people questions. But he was a swinging bachelor one day, a father to a three year old the next.

Except he wasn't exactly a swinging bachelor these days. He still went out, especially when the Mikaelson brothers were in town. But, more often than not, he stayed in, hidden away in the garage bay with his Camaro or sitting alone in his small apartment, watching something he had already seen a 100 times over on Netflix. Ever since his accident, he hadn't really wanted to go out, do things. He spent a lot of time in his head, thinking about anything and everything. There was so much to think about already, and now he had Molly too.

He was furious at Elena. He was livid with his parents, Stefan, and Caroline. The anger ebbed and flowed. Sometimes he was blinded by his rage. He couldn't believe they had kept this from him. He couldn't believe they hadn't told him he had a child. For three whole years, they had kept Molly from him. It was wrong and deceitful in the rawest of ways.

Other times, his anger cooled. He could understand. He remembered the countless times his cell phone screen lit up with Elena's name. She called almost continuously the first couple of days. Then, she stopped cold. A couple weeks later – when she found out she was pregnant, he now knew – she became relentless again. His parents had never stopped calling. Stefan had continued to dial him a few times a day. He finally changed his number.

There were emails too. He deleted them without opening them, just as he deleted the voicemails without listening to them. He remembered messages from the woman who answered the phones at Mikealson Motorsports. They said things like "Call Elena ASAP" and "Please call your parents immediately." He threw those away. He remembered the racetrack confrontations too.

As angry as he was, he also found himself feeling guilty. Guilt had been a constant fixture in his life for a long time, but until his accident, he had managed to trample it down, cover it up. Lying in his hospital bed, his family hovering around him as though nothing had happened between them, showing him their love and support, he felt like someone had layered concrete on his chest. He didn't deserve it. He deserved to be facing the road to recovery alone.

Instead of dealing with his guilt then, he threw himself into rehab and focused solely on getting back on the track. He didn't know how to face his family, how to even begin to right the wrongs he had made over the years. He kept pushing them away because it was easier than facing his past. He had no idea he could feel worse about the choices he had made until he learned about Molly. He wanted to be mad. He was mad. But, Elena had tried to tell him. His family had tried. His foolish pride had kept him from answering the phone.

His pride had kept him from knowing about his daughter.

If he were brutally honest with himself, he wouldn't have told him about Molly in recent years either. He was in no shape to be a father. He was barely managing to take care of himself before the accident. He partied hard, drank hard liquor, and, at his lowest, dabbled in hard drugs. He wasn't proud of his behavior. He slept around, threw away his career in the name of a good time. It was a wonder he hadn't been fired before he was. He suspected that was because Mikeal Mikealson didn't like his father and still resented Giuseppe for beating him out in the final race of the season in 1994 to squeak out enough points to win the Winston Cup Championship. Stealing Damon away from Salvatore Racing had been a form of payback.

His life was a mess. The only thing he had going for him was a trust fund and a decent paycheck, a paycheck that could have been better had he not thrown away the last couple of years. He could afford a child, but did he really need to raise one?

His apartment alone was reason enough to say he had no business with a kid. It was in a good location – there weren't any bad locations in Mystic Falls – but other than that, it wasn't kid friendly. It was small. There was only one bedroom, and he didn't even have a bathtub, just a shower stall. It was a mess, his clothes all over the floor, a trashcan overflowing with takeout containers in the kitchen. The food in his fridge was outdated and whatever was in his pantry was questionable, at best. He forgot to lock the door half the time, and he didn't even own a first aid kit, although he supposed he could get one.

He wasn't a good influence. Stefan was going to make a great father. He was stable, had a real home with a real backyard. They even had a dog, if the tiny little critter that Caroline brought to the relationship could be call a dog. He was successful, went to church on Sunday mornings when they were home, to a makeshift service held in the garage area when they weren't. His marriage was strong and he didn't have skeletons in his closet that could come back to bite him down the road.

Damon couldn't say any of those things about himself. He had no business being in charge of a three year old's wellbeing. It was one thing to toss her cheese puffs and kick a ball around with her in the infield. It was a whole other thing to be her father, to hold her when she cried and correct her when she was wrong. She needed someone to be an example. He was none of those things.

Except he wanted to be.

He wanted to be because he didn't know if he could stand to see anyone else assume that role in Molly's life.

He just didn't know if he could be.

* * *

><p>He had avoiding Elena and Molly down to an art form. For the last three days, the fact that Molly was his daughter had played on loop. The only time he managed to push down thoughts of Molly was when there was something racing-related in front of him. He had always been able to shut out everything else and focus when he was behind the wheel. Otherwise, his thoughts were full of Molly, of Elena, of the fact that his family had lied to him, of the fact that he kept swinging from blind anger to overwhelming guilt.<p>

Avoiding his father and Stefan had been easier said than done. Giuseppe was especially difficult as he was an invested team owner, not just his father. Damon had kept himself in check, kept from lashing out at him. That morning had been rough, his mother not easily fought off when she turned up at his motor home demanding he join them for breakfast as it was race day. He had finally given in. Elena had already finished eating and taken Molly to the motor home to get dressed for the day when he joined them.

The green flag would drop in an hour. He had precious few minutes before it was time to race. His car had been rolled into position in the starting grid and soon, he would need to step into his fire suit. He was milling around in the garage area, waiting, trying not to be nervous, when a little voice met his ears.

"Can I drive your car?"

Somehow, Molly had sneaked up on him. She was standing behind him, dressed in a black and red dress, her hair pulled up in a bow, matching red shoes on her feet. She was, he realized, dressed in his racing colors, whether on purpose or not, he didn't know. The fact that she was his daughter hit him hard in that moment.

"You're too little to drive my car," he told her. It was the first time he had spoken to her since figuring out she was his. "Maybe when you're bigger." If she still wanted to drive when she was older, he would help her. He shook his head a bit at the thought. He didn't know what he wanted when it came to Molly. And, looking at her in a dress and bow, so small and innocent, he didn't want to think of her being old enough to drive, either.

"I'm almost three," she said defiantly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "You are." He turned away, busying himself with getting his fire suit out of its garment bag. He didn't mean to ignore Molly, he just didn't know how to talk to her now, knowing she was his own flesh and blood. It shouldn't be any different. Talking to her shouldn't be harder. But, it was.

"Day-mun?" she asked.

"Yeah?" he glanced at her. She looked curious.

"Are you sad?"

He frowned and turned to her. "Sad?" he asked. He shook his head. He was a lot of things, but sad wasn't one of them. "I'm not sad."

"You look sad."

"I'm not," he assured Molly. "I guess I'm just nervous about the race." _About racing,_ he thought to himself, _and you_. He turned back to his fire suit.

"What's ner-vis?" Molly asked.

"It's… When your belly feels weird," he said, trying to think of how to explain it to an almost three year old. Her eyes lit up.

"Like me on the plane!" He nodded, smiling slightly.

"Like that," he agreed. He turned again, not paying attention to the fact that Molly skipped off. He stepped into his fire suit and pulled it up over his fitted shorts. He left it hanging loose at the waist. He always waited until the last minute to pull it over the rest of his body. He found his hat, emblazoned with his team's sponsor, put it on, then picked up his sunglasses.

"Here," came Molly's voice again. He turned and found her standing before him once more, this time holding out a chocolate chip cookie. He raised an eyebrow.

"What's this for?" he asked, taking the cookie from her.

"Mama let me have a cookie on the plane," she said. "It made my tummy not feel weird." Damon felt his heart soften. Molly looked like him, but she was really Elena's miniature, he realized. The compassion, the kindness shining in her eyes as she looked at him, waiting for him to eat the cookie, that was all Elena. "It not have nuts in it," she added. Damon nodded.

"I know," he said. "Thank you, Molly." He took a bite of the cookie and felt like he had already won the race with the smile the child gave him. He knew he had to ask. "Where's your mom?" Molly looked guilty. He sighed. There was nothing for it. He would have to face Elena. "Come on, kiddo," he said, reaching down to pick her up. "Where did you slip off from?"

"Um, Uncle Stef's car, I think," Molly said. "But the car not there. He say it is on the track already. I asked." Damon sighed. He knew exactly where Molly had been last.

"You can't run off from your mom, kiddo," he told her as he started towards Stefan's team's garage stall. "Especially not when you're at a race track. There are too many people. There are cars being moved, equipment. You could get hurt."

"I wanted a cookie," Molly said with a pout. He knew she meant the catering area full of snacks.

"Still, you can't run off from your mom or your grandparents or whoever is supposed to be watching you," he said. "It's not safe."

"Mama's gonna be mad," Molly pouted.

"Probably," Damon agreed. He rounded a corner and had just a moment to see a frantic Elena gesturing to a NASCAR official before Stefan spied him.

"There she is," he said. "Damon has her." Elena turned and he could see relief flood her body.

"Molly!" she cried. She rushed to Damon and took the child out his arms. She hugged Molly tightly to her. A tear escaped. Damon reached up and scratched at the back of his neck, suddenly nervous.

"She turned up at my hauler," he explained. "She said she was looking for cookies."

"Molly, you cannot, absolutely cannot sneak away from me!" Elena cried out, loosening her grip on Molly just enough to be able to see the child's face. She was frantic, Molly's latest disappearing act leaving her shaken. "Especially not a race track! There are so many people and there are cars and tractor trailers and equipment… And you know better than to eat things when you don't know where they came from! What if you ate something with nuts in it? Molly, you cannot do this to me!" Elena was beside herself, terrified and relieved at the same time.

"I sorry, Mama," Molly mumbled. Her bottom lip trembled. Without warning, she burst into tears and buried her face in Elena's neck. She seemed to have realized that she had scared her mother, that she had done more than just walk off in search of a cookie. Damon stood rooted to the spot, unable to look away. He hated seeing Molly crying, Elena so upset.

"No TV privileges this week," Elena said to Molly, even as she hugged her tightly once more. "And no dessert. No… No… I don't know what else, but you're losing a lot of privileges. You have to learn that you can't do this." Molly cried harder into Elena's neck, her tears muffled. Elena was torn between relief that Molly was okay and the need to discipline her. "I love you too much to let you get away with this." Behind them, Stefan turned away to handle the NASCAR official. His crew, gathered around, started to disperse back to whatever they were supposed to be doing. Damon was left to stay or go.

"Day-mun say I can't walk off too!" Molly cried out suddenly, lifting her head from Elena's neck. "He say I get hurt!" Elena nodded, surprised that Damon had seemingly already lectured Molly. She would have to think about what that could mean later.

"He's right," she said. "You could get hurt or worse. Please, Molly, don't ever do that again. I mean it. Mama can't handle it. If something were to happen to you…" She hugged Molly again. Damon crossed his arms over his chest. He silently cursed the fact that he wanted to pull both Molly and Elena into his arms to comfort them.

"I sorry," Molly muttered again.

"I know you are," Elena assured her. She hugged her still tighter. Her eyes met Damon's then. She held his gaze for a long moment. "Thank you," she told him softly. He nodded once.

"I told you I wouldn't hurt her," he said in a low tone. "I'm not going to let her get hurt either." With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Elena hugging their daughter to her chest, both of their tears still falling.

* * *

><p>"25 laps to go," came Ric's voice. "How's it going?"<p>

"Good," Damon replied. His whole body hurt, especially his shoulder. It was stifling hot in the car, well over a hundred degrees, somewhere around 150 degrees at his feet. He wasn't being burned, thanks to his fire suit, but sweat was dripping from every crevice of his body and he desperately wanted something to drink. He couldn't wait to get out of the car and stretch his legs, peel off his suit, and take a shower. He loved every second of it. "It's real good."

"You're good on fuel," added Mason. "Tires should last to the end."

"I'm still a little tight going into the corners," Damon replied. "But nothing we can do about it now."

"Just drive, baby," Mason answered. "Just drive."

"Watch the 24," Ric added. "He's getting aggressive. Keselowski is just up ahead. Him and Gordon get along like oil and water. There's going to be some bumping and swapping paint. Try to stay clear."

"Let them take each other out," Damon replied. "That's two less for me to worry about." Ric chuckled, but didn't reply.

"Just keep it clean," Mason advised. "We're just about there."

_Just about there. _

He wasn't going to win. He knew that. He hadn't expected to win his first race back. All he wanted was to finish with his car intact. There had been a scare about 75 laps in. Another car got loose and forced him up the track to avoid it. He bumped the wall, but aside from a scratched up paint job, the damage was minimal. His pit team had slapped some duct tape on the front fender under caution and sent him back on the track without losing a lap.

There were only 24 laps left. He was in fourteenth. He could do this.

He was just about there.

* * *

><p>Damon rolled his neck and shoulders, trying to work the cramps out of them, all while chugging water, Gatorade, whatever he was handed. His mother had met him almost as soon as he was out of his car, fussing over him and offering him an already opened bottle of something cold. In the chaos of post-race, he briefly forgot his mixed feelings towards her and graciously took the drink, as well as the protein bar she passed him. When she started asking if he was okay, going as far as to attempt to assess his shoulder herself, he remembered. He walked off then, mumbling about post-race interviews.<p>

He was exhausted.

Racing was exhausting.

Hours were spent in tight quarters where temperatures were high and, despite the ventilation system, the fumes were strong. Sweat poured, resulting in a 5, sometimes 10, pound weight loss. It was a job in and of itself to stay hydrated, even with his specialized hydration system that piped in small amounts of water through a tube connected to his helmet with a push of a button. His body ached, tired from fighting the wheel, the force of the car coming out of the curves alone defying the laws of physics. His shoulder and leg were especially sore, pushed to the very limit of what he could endure physically at this point. He wanted nothing more than to get back to Mystic Falls, climb into bed, and sleep for the next 24 hours.

He couldn't have loved it more if he tried.

The nerves had been there when he finished zipping up his fire suit. His stomach had churned during the benediction and he had felt downright nauseous during the National Anthem. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears when the command to start engines was given. Had his hands not already been gripping the steering wheel, they would have been shaking too hard to drive.

But he had done it. He had finished the race. His car crossed the finish line twelfth. Any other time, he would have been disappointed. If he didn't win, he at least wanted a Top 10 finish, Top 5 if he could swing it. But today, his first race since Talladega, a twelfth place finish was as good as a win. He had proven to himself that he could do this. He had 35 more races to go. Now that he had his wings back, so to speak, he could focus on winning at least one of those 35, more if he had his way.

"Damon."

Damon closed his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath, reminded himself to stay calm, and turned to face his father.

"Dad."

"You ran a good race today," Giuseppe said.

"Thanks," Damon answered tightly. He pulled in a breath to keep his temper under control. He wanted to lash out. He wanted to ask his father what had possessed him to keep the fact that he had a daughter a secret. He wanted to demand answers. He deserved answers. He even wanted to apologize for the last four years. But, he had decided to play his cards close to his chest, at least for now. He had to think this through and to do that, he needed to get out of Daytona and away from his family. And Elena. He needed to hole up in his apartment and avoid them for a while.

"I'm proud of you," Giuseppe told him. There was a gravely element to his voice that made Damon raise an eyebrow. Giuseppe clapped his hand on Damon's shoulder, careful to avoid the one injured at Talladega. "I'm damn proud of you."

"Thanks," Damon said again. As mad at his father as he was, he could tell – could feel – that Giuseppe meant it. His father truly was proud of him. "I'm going to change before we go to the airport." Giuseppe nodded once.

"Okay," he agreed. "I think you've earned the right to get comfortable."

Giuseppe watched Damon walk away. He shook his head in disbelief. His driver, Jeff, had won the Daytona 500. Stefan and his team were still celebrating in Victory Lane. As thrilled as he was with the win, it was Damon's victory that meant the most to him. Four months ago, he had been sure his son was going to die. He had felt it in his bones. He had prayed for a miracle, had offered to take Damon's place, even knowing that wasn't how things worked. He had been there when the doctors offered grim news. He had been there when the news turned more hopeful. And, he had been there when the doctors said his oldest son would make a full recovery.

He hadn't truly believed them until today.

* * *

><p><strong>WHEW! We made it through Daytona - <em>Damon <em>made it through Daytona. This was a huge victory for him. Now, he can turn his attention to figuring out all of this with Molly. And Elena. More of that, coming right up!**

**NASCAR stuff: Racing is intense. Cars are going 200+ mph at some of these tracks and the races last for 3, 4 hours. Those cockpits aren't meant for comfort and its entirely common for a drive to lose up to 10 pounds during a race. Some of them (like Damon) have hydration systems installed, but staying hydrated is difficult. It's hot - over a 100 degrees and upwards of 150 around their feet which are closest to the engine and the asphalt - and cramped and they sweat a lot. It's really not all that attractive. And Damon absolutely loves it. **

**Please let me know what you think!**


	14. Lincoln In The NICU

**Hi friends! I _know. _It's been a bit. There is an update below, but before we get to that, can we chat for a minute? **

**I really _really _appreciate your support. I love reading your reviews. I love your theories and your reactions and your guesses about what will happen next. And I really love writing. I also love the pings, asking for another update. **

**I'm asking politely for you to remember that this story isn't the _only _thing I have going on in my life. I have a full-time job, I freelance as a writer, I blog, I'm training to teach barre classes, I'm in leadership of my town's Junior League. I go to church, I take barre classes and go to the gym, I volunteer. Somewhere in between all of that, I try to have a social life, go on dates, see my family, and play with my dog. I have a _lot _going on. I write my fan fiction stories at night and on the weekends and some nights and weekends, I want to step away from the computer and read a book or watch a movie. **

**So, I'm asking that you remember that. Again, I don't mind the reviews and PMs that ask me to update soon or inquire as to when a next update will be. It lets me know you like what I'm doing. But, when those reviews turn nasty and threatening, I don't like it and it does, in fact, do the opposite. It takes the joy out of writing, and so, I don't do it. Which means you don't get a timely update. **

**Please, _please _continue reviewing and asking for another update. I love and appreciate all of the support. But, don't be ugly. Don't drop F bombs or threaten me. It's not nice. It's rude and hurtful. So please, be kind. **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Vampire Diaries.**

* * *

><p>Mondays were good, Elena decided. Mondays, from now through November, were definitely going to be good.<p>

As part of her contract with Giuseppe, she negotiated to work from home on Mondays and Tuesdays after a race, unless an event or something with one of the drivers required otherwise. Since she was now going to be spending nearly every weekend traveling, she asked to have two days at home during the week, a makeshift weekend. Giuseppe readily agreed.

This was the first time since moving back to Mystic Falls that Elena truly had the house to herself. She had dropped Molly off at school, returned home, and immediately put her pajamas back on. Now, she was curled up in front of her fireplace, ignoring her growing inbox in favor of having some time to herself.

Part of her was itching to pick up the phone, call Damon, and demand they talk. She was sure he was still asleep. It was still relatively early, and he was infamous for sleeping half the day after a race. While she knew he needed time to process everything, she also knew they needed to talk. She needed to tell him everything. He deserved to know the whole story.

He had been sullen on the plane. He finished strong at Daytona, better than anyone expected. Elena thought he did it for spite, just as much as he had for the fact that the whole point of racing was to win. Damon tended to do exactly what everyone thought he wouldn't in an effort to prove them wrong.

He had been one of the first on the Salvatore Racing jet. He had gone all the way to the back of the plane, took a window seat, and plugged his earphones in. With his hoodie pulled over his head, he at least pretended to sleep until they landed at the small Mystic Falls airport. Then, he disembarked last, hopped into his SUV, and left without a backwards glance for anyone.

She was facing down the unknown.

She was relieved Damon knew the truth. Lying to him was exhausting. The guilt she carried over keeping such a big secret was exhausting. Everything was in the open now. She wished, however, that it had been her who told him, rather than him figuring it out over a shared like of a strange breakfast combination. It was her own fault for not telling him sooner. Now, they had to figure out how to move forward.

She didn't like the dance they were doing. Damon knew, she knew he knew, but no one else knew he knew. He wanted time to process everything. She could understand that. But did she poke the bear, so to speak, or did she continue to go along with his wishes? The longer he went, keeping everything to himself, the worse it would be. The longer he was allowed to go without confronting his family, the harder it would be for them to recover. It was already hard enough. If nothing else, she wanted the Salvatores to come through on the other side as a family. She owed them that.

Most importantly, she had to consider Molly.

She didn't want Molly to know Damon was her father yet. Damon had to choose if he wanted to be in her life or not. If he chose not to, Molly would be none the wiser, at least not until she was much older. If he, as she hoped he would, chose to be involved in her life, however, Elena needed to be sure he would stick around, that he would be a good influence. She knew too well what it felt like to go to bed with Damon in her life and wake up without him in it. She wouldn't allow Molly to be hurt like that.

There were a million questions she didn't have the answers to. She didn't like not having the answers. Nor did she like not knowing all the questions. But, for now, she could only take things as they came.

And guard Molly's heart with her own.

* * *

><p>"Our NICU is theregion's most advanced neonatal intensive care unit and serves as a referral center for premature and sick newborns," Dr. Fellows said, leading the group of drivers and key Salvatore Racing staff through the halls of the University of Virginia's Children's Hospital. "We have 51 beds, as well as a number of parenting suites that give parents privacy during their child's stay. They can get some rest, shower, have a place to escape the NICU for a while. It's also a great place for parents to care for their baby before they go home, that way if any questions or problems arise, a doctor or nurse is nearby."<p>

"Care for their baby… You mean, like, if the child is going home on oxygen or has a feeding tube or something, parents can basically simulate the home environment, but if something happens, they have help just down the hall?" Caroline asked. The doctor smiled kindly at her while Damon, keeping to the back of the pack, forced himself not to roll his eyes. Caroline had been firing off question after question since the moment they walked through the doors of the hospital an hour earlier.

"That's exactly what I mean," the doctor agreed. She was aware that Caroline was pregnant and very curious about everything the hospital offered newborns.

"How many babies are born premature each year?" Stefan asked. Dr. Fellows opened her mouth to answer, but Elena beat her to it.

"1 in 9," she said. "About 450,000 a year." Dr. Fellows smiled kindly at her.

"It was your daughter that was born early, right?" she asked, remembering Elena from the check presentation they had just left. Elena nodded.

"She was seven weeks early," she confirmed. "She was at Children's Hospital Los Angeles."

"They are among the best," Dr. Fellows said with an approving nod of her head. "She was in excellent hands."

"She was," Elena confirmed. "Community Hospital of San Bernardino was practically in our backyard, but my dad is a doctor and insisted on Children's. I can't thank them enough for what they did for her."

At the back of the pack, Damon shoved his hands in his pockets and balled them into fists. Molly was his child too, and yet no one bothered to mention that because Elena was the only one who knew he knew the truth, and no one else seemed to be any closer to offering it up. No one asked him about Molly or her stay in the NICU or how she had recovered. He found out right alongside Dr. Fellows which NICU his kid had been in. It was infuriating. It grinded his guilt gear a little harder.

"She's perfectly healthy now?" Dr. Fellows continued. Elena nodded.

"She's doing wonderful," she said. "She's on the small end of the growth chart, but other than that, she doesn't have any residual effects."

"That's great," Dr. Fellow replied. "That's why I do this – to see happy outcomes like your little one. Salvatore Racing's generous donation will continue to allow us to provide the highest levels of care and research." Damon bit his lip. The hospital staff had been falling all over them since they arrived, $50,000 check in tow. After a presentation in front of hospital staff and the media, followed by a round of interviews, they were now getting their very own private tour of the hospital, complete with a photographer to capture it all. He was just waiting for the "NASCAR driver with sick kid" photo op. They followed Dr. Fellows through a set of double doors and into a small room. A double sink and cabinets lined one side.

"I have arranged for you all to visit with some of the NICU patients, namely their parents, who could do with a pick-me-up," Dr. Fellows said. "We will be breaking into small groups and I have nurses waiting to escort you. There are just a few rules we need to follow before we allow you to go in."

Damon half listened as the doctor told them to wash their hands and put on gowns, gloves, masks, and even boot covers over their shoes. She confirmed no one had a cold or cough and, after a lot of commotion to get properly suited up, she led them into the NICU. Almost right away, an older nurse came up to him.

"You're Damon Salvatore, right?" she asked. Damon nodded.

"Yes, ma'am," he confirmed. Even wound tight like he was at the moment, he was polite, charming. He knew how to do his job, both on and off the track. She gave him a kind smile.

"Come with me," she said. "I have a family I want you to meet. They are big fans of yours. The dad especially. He's been telling their son all about how you were going to be at the hospital today. I tried to get him to go down to the check presentation, thought he would at least get to see you up close and personal, if he didn't get the chance to meet you. But, he didn't want to leave his little boy, even for a few minutes."

He had been racing his entire life, but he would never get used to the idea that there were people out there who looked up to him. They bought t-shirts with his face on them. They purchased models of his car and waited around the race track in hopes they would get an autograph. As the made their way through the NICU, he noticed the sections were lettered.

"What are the letters for?" he asked as they passed a baby girl sleeping soundly in a hospital crib. She was wearing a colorful headband and there were drawings that looked to have been done by a small child around her bed. A nameplate said "Katelynn." She didn't look sick to Damon.

"We organize the NICU by pods," the nurse explained. Damon got a glimpse of her name badge. Her first name was Betty. "This," she tilted her head in baby Katelynn's direction, "is Pod D. These little fighters are going home any day now. It's a really good day when you get to move a baby into Pod D. Pod C is a step down unit. The babies are still in need of around the clock care, but they are out of the woods, so to speak. Pod B babies are primarily born with birth defects. Some of them have had a number of surgeries already." She stopped and placed a hand on a baby's incubator as they walked by Pod B.

"This little guy is named Blake," she told Damon. "Bless his soul, he has a broken heart. He's only five days old and has already had two surgeries. He has a third scheduled for tomorrow, but we may need to postpone, depending on how he does overnight. His mom is still hospitalized, looks like his daddy has either gone to visit her or is trying to get some sleep. Lord knows he needs it."

Until now, Damon hadn't really noticed the tiny patients in the individual incubators and cribs. He had only seen a maze of medical equipment, heard the beeping noises of machines and the low hum of doctors, nurses, and parents conversing. Now, looking down at Blake, he wanted nothing more than to look away. He was only 5 days old, but he had been through hell. He was dramatically swollen, and his small body was practically covered in bandages and tubes. A monitor beeped out the not quite steady rhythm of his heart. As much as he wanted to look away, he wanted to trade places with the little boy too. No child should be faced with so much, especially when they were brand new. Betty started to walk again and Damon pulled himself away from Blake to follow.

"Pod A is for our preemies and micro preemies," she told him. "These little ones were too eager to get out into the world for their own good, so they need a little help before we can send them out there."

"What's a micro preemie?" Damon asked.

"A baby born extremely early," Betty answered. "They weigh less than 1 pound, 2 ounces, or were born before 26 weeks. They face a number of health issues, and tend to spend quite a bit of time with us."

As much as he didn't want to, he couldn't help but look at the babies as they passed. Some of them were surrounded by parents and loved ones, personal effects and get well wishes. Others were all alone. To his right, a mother was crying silently as she rested her hand against her baby's incubator, unable to touch him or her. A cold chill ran through Damon and stayed there.

"Charlie?" Betty asked as they rounded a corner. "Luanne?" A big man, dressed in flannel, looked in their direction. He was exhausted, his eyes heavy with dark circles, his facial hair a few days old. The woman to his right, who Damon assumed was his wife, barely glanced at them, her attention on the small baby in the incubator in front of her. "I have someone I want you to meet." Damon watched as Charlie's eyes lit up in recognition.

"Damon Salvatore," Damon introduced himself. With more courage than he felt like he had, he joined the family at the incubator and offered his gloved hand.

"I'm Charlie," the big man said hurriedly. He shook gloved hands with Damon. "Charlie Floyd. This is my fiancée, Luanne."

"I'm pleased to meet you," Damon replied. Luanne looked up at him and offered him a sad smile.

"We're tickled to meet you as well," she said politely. "We're big fans, especially my husband. I'd shake your hand, but…" She titled her head towards the incubator. It was then that Damon noticed she had her hands in the incubator with her baby, one of her fingers gripped tightly by the tiny infant. "If I take my hands out, I'll have to go wash them again and, well…" she trailed off, but Damon nodded in understanding.

"That's my son," Charlie explained. Pride rolled off him. "We named him Lincoln Jacob, Lincoln after Luanne's grandpa, Jacob after mine."

"He's beautiful," Damon said automatically, looking down at the baby. He was small. Incredibly small. His diaper was so big on his tiny body that it came to just under his arms. A tube down his throat was helping him breathe, and a number of other monitors and IVs ran in and out of him.

"He's a bitty one," Charlie said. "He was born at 30 weeks. He's two weeks old today. He's a pretty scrappy little guy." Somewhere in the NICU, an alarm went off. Damon looked in the direction it was coming from and saw several people in scrubs rushing towards an incubator. No one else seemed to give the alarm a second glance, however, aside from a few curious onlookers like himself.

"That happens a lot," Luanne explained. "Most of the time it's nothing. A baby pulled a lead off or something. But sometimes, it's something big." She glanced across the room at the baby's incubator and seemed to relax minutely. "That's Oliver," she told Damon as the crowd around him started to disperse. "He's always pulling his leads off. Looks like that's what happened."

"He's another scrappy one," Charlie added. "He was born addicted. He's doing pretty well though. His grandma thinks she'll be able to take him home with her soon. His mama's in jail." Damon didn't know how to respond to that, but Charlie said it so casually. He found himself wondering what the stories of the other babies around him were.

"Any idea when you will get to take Lincoln home?" he asked. He realized too late that it may have been an insensitive question. He didn't know much about the NICU and neonatology, but he did know those parenting suites Dr. Fellows mentioned were also a place parents could go to say goodbye to their children in private. The doctor had spared them that minor detail.

"Not for a while yet, but we're hopeful for next month," Luanne said. "My birthday is on the 17th, St. Patrick's Day. It's a longshot – it's already the last week of February – but it would be the best birthday present in the world, getting to take him home." Damon gave her a smile.

"My daughter's birthday is on the 10th," he heard himself saying. He hadn't even thought about it. He had merely opened his mouth and the words came out. He was thankful everyone else was too wrapped up in whatever they were doing to hear him.

"You have a daughter?" Charlie asked, surprised. "I didn't know that." He scratched his head as though confused. He thought he knew everything about the oldest Salvatore.

"I do," Damon confirmed. "It's – complicated, but I do. She will be three on the 10th." He nodded towards Lincoln. "She was a NICU baby, too."

"How is she doing today?" Luanne asked. She looked at him hopefully. Damon smiled again.

"She's doing great," he said. "She's beautiful, smart as a tack. She's small for her age, but other than that, she doesn't have any residual side effects from her NICU stay." Damon felt another wave of mixed emotions, but disguised it well. He had to repeat what he heard Elena say about Molly as he had never been given the chance to be there to find out for himself.

"That's good," Luanne said. "That's really good." She looked relieved, hopeful.

"Yeah," Damon agreed. He gazed at the baby, wondering if that was how Molly had looked. Did she rely on a tube to breathe? Did she pull her leads off? Eat through a tube? He had no idea.

"You look like you're doing better yourself," Charlie said, appraising Damon. "You drove real well at Daytona too. Twelfth ain't bad at all."

"I'm a lot better than I was a few months ago," Damon confirmed, giving Charlie a friendly half smile. He liked the man, he decided. "I'll take a twelfth place finish at Daytona. At least this time."

"How is it driving a Chevy this year after being in a Toyota for the last few?" Charlie asked. For the next several minutes, Damon talked racing with Charlie, both men happy for the distraction in front of them. Betty excused herself to check on a baby nearby, but when she returned, she had Dr. Fellows with her.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Dr. Fellows said with a friendly smile. "I'm just going to check on our little guy here." Charlie dropped his conversation with Damon and turned his full attention to the doctor. Luanne remained where she was, although she had to remove her finger from her son's grasp.

"How's he doing, Doc?" Charlie asked after several moments of the doctor listening to the baby with her stethoscope, using her fingers to feel along his abdomen, and reading some of the machines hooked to the baby.

"No real changes to report from this morning," she said with as much compassion as she could. "Which isn't a bad thing. I still think we will try to begin weaning him from the ventilator tomorrow or the next day and transition him to CPAP. He hasn't had any more episodes of bradycardia since yesterday morning and that's a very good sign. He's getting stronger as the days go by. I know it's not easy to hear, but just be patient. Lincoln is a fighter. He's going to be just fine."

Damon felt his heart twist for Luanne and Charlie as he took in their downcast faces. It was hard for them to believe the small little boy laying in an incubator was going to be okay. He could understand why.

"Thank you, Dr. Fellows," Luanne said softly. Charlie nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, Doc," he repeated.

"No need," she said with a smile. "This is what I do." With that, she moved on to the next incubator.

"Would you mind maybe taking a photo with us?" Charlie asked Damon timidly. "You don't have to, and I know we're dressed in all this hospital stuff, but it would mean a lot to us if we could get a photo with you." Damon smiled at Charlie.

"I would be happy to," he said, genuinely meaning it. They flagged Betty down and passed her Charlie's iPhone. Damon posed with Charlie and then moved to squat down next to Luanne for another photo, and then Charlie joined them for another.

"I really appreciate this," Luanne told him as Charlie went to retrieve his phone from Betty. "Charlie is such a fan of yours and he's been so wonderful during all of this.'

"I'm happy to do it," Damon said. "The least I can do is take a few photos."

"I'm sure it brings back memories for you," Luanne said. "Being here, I mean. I'm sure you spent hours in the NICU with your own little girl." Damon's smile faltered, but he quickly put it back in place. The only memories he had were of the fact that he wasn't there.

"Yeah," he said for Luanne's benefit. "It does." He looked down at Lincoln once more and noticed that the baby's skin was somewhat translucent. He wondered if it had been the same for Molly. He bit his lip. "Would you mind if I said hello to Lincoln?" he asked. Luanne smiled at him. "I'll understand if you say no," he said. More alarms went off, but he ignored them this time. "He's kind of the star here, though, and I just – you know, thought I'd say hello to him too."

"I would like that," she said. "It will be kind of cool to tell him a famous race car driver came to visit him while he was in the NICU." Damon grinned sheepishly.

"I don't know about famous," he said as he moved to change places with Luanne. As he took her seat, nerves settled in. He was sure some psychologist would tell him he was trying to make up for not being by Molly's side when she was in a NICU thousands of miles way. They would probably be right, but he chose not to think about that. He observed the baby, not really sure what to do now that he was seated beside him. He looked even smaller up close.

"You washed your hands before you came in, right?" Luanne asked. Damon nodded. "Then, if you're comfortable, go ahead and take off one of your gloves and reach in. He's tiny, but he has a strong grip."

Damon could hear his heart beating in his ears as he removed a glove and threaded his hand through the incubator's opening. He placed his pinkie in the little boy's hand and almost right away, the boy grasped it. Just as Luanne said, his grip was strong. It was contradictory, that something so frail in appearance could still be so strong. He swallowed hard as feelings of regret washed over him, followed quickly by a fresh round of anger at Elena and his family. That anger was again quickly replaced by guilt. It was a rollercoaster he wanted off of.

"Hang in there, little guy," he heard himself whispering to Lincoln. He didn't notice when Luanne and Charlie snapped another round of photos. He didn't notice the photographer with Salvatore Racing captured the moment. He didn't even notice the doctors and nurses working frantically on a baby across the room. All he could focus on was the tiny boy in front of him. "Your mom and dad really love you. It might not seem like it now, with all these tubes and not being home in your own bed, but you're a pretty lucky little guy."

An image of Molly standing before him, offering him a cookie to cheer him up, floated into his mind. He couldn't reconcile the fact that the vibrant little girl had once been this sick, this tiny. He couldn't even reconcile the fact that she was his. But in that moment, it didn't matter. Because right then, all he could focus on was the fact that he hadn't been by his daughter's side while she was in the NICU.

He needed air.

Gently, he extricated his finger from Lincoln.

"Thank you," he said to both Luanne and Charlie. "All three of you will be in my thoughts." He managed to politely and quickly part ways, signing an autograph for Charlie and another for Lincoln's nursery on a piece of hospital letterhead Betty produced. He made a mental note to sign one of his hero cards and get it to them, something more substantial than hospital letterhead, as he hurried out of the NICU.

He made his way through the halls until he found what he was looking for. He shoved through the door to the balcony and gulped in the cold late February air. His hands were shaking. He wished desperately for one of the valiums he had stashed in his sock drawer, even though he'd sworn to himself yet again that he wouldn't touch them again. He was so preoccupied with trying to bring himself under control that he didn't notice Elena, perched on the top of a nearby picnic table. The seventh floor balcony was otherwise empty.

"Damon?" she asked quietly.

Damon turned at the sound of her voice. His eyes narrowed at the site of her. He hadn't spoke to her since he returned Molly to her at Daytona. He knew he needed to, but it was easier to avoid her for now. He had no idea what to say.

"What?" he demanded. The word came out harsher than he intended it to. Her eyes widened at his tone. He noticed her tearstained cheeks. She had been crying. "What, Elena?" he said again, this time a little softer.

"I just… You… Are you… Are you okay?" she stuttered. She clasped her hands together in her lap and leaned forward, wanting to make herself as small as she could. Of all the times for her and Damon to have a confrontation, this was one of the worst. Damon snorted.

"Am I okay?" he repeated. "Hell, no, Elena! I am not okay. I haven't been okay for a long time. I've spent most of the last hour being reminded of the fact that I have a three year old daughter that I didn't know about. The same daughter that spent God knows how long in a NICU fighting for her life while I was blissfully ignorant to her existence a couple thousand miles away!"

"38 days," Elena answered. Damon realized she had been crying for a while. Her voice was raw.

"What?" he asked, not hearing her the first time.

"38 days," Elena said again, her voice stronger. "She spent 38 days in the NICU."

"And you were by her side every single one of them, weren't you?" he asked. Feeling guilty, Elena nodded. Damon started to pace.

"I know absolutely nothing about her time in the NICU. I know that she was born seven weeks early, spent 38 days in the NICU, and other than being small for her age, she's just fine now. How could I let that happen, Elena? How could I not be a part of her life? Do you really hate me that much? I know I screwed up, but dammit, Elena!"

"Damon, no," Elena said with a shake of her head. She couldn't be sure, but it seemed like Damon was faltering somewhere between anger and guilt, jumping from blaming himself to blaming her in the span of a few sentences. "I didn't hate you. I don't hate you." Damon sighed and shook his head as he ran his hand over his face.

"I don't know how to handle this," he admitted. "I don't know where to begin to handle any of this."

"I don't know how to handle it either," Elena confessed. She wiped at her eyes. Damon bit his lip for a moment, something that was becoming a nervous habit, but knew he couldn't not ask her.

"Are you okay?"

Elena looked at him, surprised. Then, she gave him a sad smile and a half shrug. "Being here brings back a lot of memories from Molly's time in the NICU," she told him. "Just, all the sick babies and the worried parents…" She blew out a breath. "It's also the anniversary of Jeremy's death. So, you know, bad day."

"I guess bad day is one way to phrase it," Damon replied, feeling a wave of empathy for Elena. He found himself moving to sit beside her. "Did Molly ever have any of those scares? Like when the alarms go off and the doctors come running?" Elena nodded.

"Three times, all during the first 10 days she was there. She pulled her breathing tube out once. Her pulse rate dropped another time, and she pulled a lead off the third time. It was terrifying every single time." Damon shook his head.

"I should have been there," he said. Elena could hear the sadness in his voice.

"I wanted you there," she told him, taking a chance. "Damon, I know we have a lot to talk about, a lot to figure out, but believe me when I say I wanted you to be there." Damon pursed his lips.

"I know," he admitted. "That's what pisses me off the most about all of this. I want to be mad. I want to be furious. And, I am. I'm so mad, Elena. At you, at my parents, Stefan, Caroline. But, I know you tried to reach me. I know my parents did. I just… God, I can't begin…" Elena reached over and put a comforting hand on his arm purely out of instinct as she felt his frustration rising.

"It's a lot to take in," she said carefully. "I know it's not the same, but it was a lot to take in when I found out I was pregnant. It's terrifying to become a parent when you aren't expecting it."

"Today, being in the NICU… It made me realize what I missed. What if we had lost her, Elena? What if Molly hadn't made it? I would have never…" He trailed off, his voice cracking. Elena squeezed his arm.

"No 'what ifs'," she told him firmly. "Molly is fine. She's happy and healthy. We can't do 'what ifs.' Trust me, Damon, you will go crazy if you start thinking about all the 'what ifs.' We can't change anything, so there's no use in thinking about what could have been different."

"It's hard not to think about all the what ifs, when you have so many regrets," Damon replied.

Elena didn't know what to say. That one sentence told her so much about Damon. She removed her hand from Damon's arm.

"I should get back," she said. "I just – needed a minute." Damon nodded in agreement.

"I guess I should get back too."

"Take a few more minutes, if you want," Elena told him. "We're just about finished, anyway."

"I'll be in in a few, then," Damon said, grateful for the reprieve. Elena stood and made to move, but Damon reached out and stopped her. "You okay?" he asked again. Elena gave him a smile and nodded, relieved they seemed to be ending on good terms, at least this time around.

"I've gotten pretty good at pulling myself together," she told him. "I'll see you later."

Elena left, leaving Damon to his thoughts. He closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands. He had a laundry list of regrets over the last few years. Elena had always been one of his biggest. His pride had kept him from crawling back and begging for forgiveness. He had very little pride left now, however. And suddenly, he felt like he had both nothing and everything to lose.

* * *

><p>He was biding his time.<p>

His appearance at Tuesday night family dinner once again surprised his family. This time, he made it a point to arrive thirty minutes before dinner and was putting on a good show of mulling around, making small talk with his father and Stefan while his mother and Caroline finished dinner.

"Dinner is on the table!" Caroline called from the dining room.

"Shall we?" Giuseppe asked. He placed what remained of his pre-dinner glass of bourbon on the bar cart in his study, ending their discussion of the upcoming weekend's race at Atlanta. Damon had barely participated in the conversation, working to keep himself in check until just the right moment. Stefan mirrored his father's motions and followed him out of the study. Damon downed what was left in his glass, poured himself another shot, and threw it back, before he too followed. He entered the dining room as the rest of his family sat down. Wordless, he took his usual seat at the opposite end of the table from Giuseppe.

"Giuseppe?" Ginny asked as she settled into her seat. "Say the blessing?" Giuseppe nodded and bent his head. The rest of the Salvatores followed his example. Damon rolled his eyes as he listened to his father give thanks for food, family, and good health. They were all a bunch of hypocrites.

"Amen," he finished.

"Amen," the family echoed.

For the first several minutes of dinner, conversation was minimal as they passed dishes and heaped their plates full. Damon went through the motions, but barely tasted his food, waiting, growing inpatient as the family debated current events. He planned to wait for the right opening, but was starting to consider just blurting it out when Caroline provided him the perfect opportunity.

"You know, I'm so glad we got to go to the NICU today," she started. "It made me feel so much better about things, actually seeing for myself the care those babies get. I know the chances of something going wrong are relatively small…"

"You and that baby are going to be fine, dear," Ginny interrupted, reaching over to briefly grasp Caroline's hand. "Stop worry about things you can't control."

"I'm with Caroline," Stefan piped up, wiping barbecue sauce from his mouth. "We're nervous enough about being first time parents. Seeing the NICU, it's good to know where our baby would go, should something happen."

"I'm sure it's a big relief too, knowing that you will know if your child does end up in the NICU," Damon spoke up, his eyes on Stefan. Stefan looked at him sharply, not sure he heard Damon correctly. Silence fell over the dining room. "You will get to be there if he or she needs to spend time in an incubator, breathing through a tube. Hell, you will know if your child even needs a tube to breathe."

Silence met his ears. He looked around the room slowly, meeting the eyes of first his mother, then Caroline, then Stefan again, before settling on his father. For once in his life, Giuseppe Salvatore was speechless. Damon glared daggers at him.

"Every last one of you knew I had a child," he said, his eyes never leaving Giuseppe's. For some reason, his father's betrayal hurt worse than the others. "You knew, for three years, that Elena was raising my daughter. And not one of thought that was something I should know." His voice was even, quiet.

"Damon, we tried…," Stefan started.

"I know," Damon cut him off. "I know you tried. But, you had me at your mercy, lying in a hospital bed in the living room just down the hallway from where we're sitting now, and even then, none of you thought to mention Molly."

"You had just been through a horrible accident," Ginny said. Giuseppe could hear the note of panic in her voice. He knew one of her greatest fears was that Damon would leave and never come back. He had done it before and would still be gone, had it not been for Talladega. "We couldn't tell you something like that while you were recovering…"

"I have a kid," Damon interrupted her. "A kid! She spent weeks in the NICU without me by her side. She took her first steps, said her first words, had her first day of preschool, all without me there. She's going to turn three two weeks from today, and she has no clue that the guy she's been tossing cheese puffs around with is actually her father. It's not just me you screwed out of time. You screwed her over too."

That was perhaps what angered him the most. It hurt that they lied. It hurt that they didn't tell him about Molly. But, the fact that Molly had no idea who her father was hurt worst of all. She had been robbed of the chance to grow up with a daddy, and no matter how great of a job Elena seemed to have done with her so far, the child still needed a dad.

"Damon, son, I know you're angry," Giuseppe started. Damon turned to him. The dangerous look in his eyes was enough to make Giuseppe fall silent once more.

"Yes, I'm angry," he said. "I'm fucking furious." Ginny chided him about his language, but he ignored her. "I'm also hurt. I have a little girl. Think about that, for a minute. I went to bed one day without a daughter and woke up the next with one. And all of you knew. None of you told me."

"We did everything we could to tell you," Ginny told him. "I called you over and over. Your father, your brother, Caroline. We all tried to tell you. But, you kept pushing us away, Damon! You wanted nothing to do with us! And then you were off, doing who knows what, and the next thing we all know, Molly is nearly three years old and you still don't know about her!"

Damon could hear the anxiety and hurt over his past actions in his mother's voice. He owed his family, especially his mother, one hell of an apology, but he couldn't bring himself to give it right then. He wasn't sure he would mean it at the moment if he did.

"Look, I will continue to drive for you," Damon said to his father. "I signed a contract and I'm going to honor it. I'll keep showing up like I'm supposed to. But right now, I need you all to just leave me alone. I need to figure all of this out, and I can't do it with you around."

With that, he pushed his chair back, stood, and made to leave the dining room.

"Damon, stop," Stefan said, standing as well. "Let's talk about this…" Damon turned to him.

"Stefan, I said to give me space, leave me alone. I don't want to talk right now. I don't know when I'm going to be ready to talk. I don't even know if I'm going to be a part of Molly's life. So, just leave me the hell alone for a while. You owe me that. All of you do."

He left the room then, leaving his family in his wake. They remained where they were, sitting in silence.

Damon knew about Molly. They had no idea how, but he did. They listened as his footsteps carried him towards the front door. They heard it swing open, then shut with a sense of finality.

"How did he find out?" Stefan finally asked, looking around the room as though someone had an answer. Caroline just shook her head, already reaching for her phone.

"I don't know," Giuseppe answered. He kept his eyes on Ginny who hadn't said a word, but he could tell her mind was racing. "I don't think Elena told him."

"What makes you think she didn't?" Stefan asked.

"She didn't," Caroline piped up, reading her phone's screen. "I texted her to see if Molly was in bed yet, so we could talk. She says he figured it out at Daytona. She's putting Molly down for the night, but said she would call once she's asleep."

"The signs were all there," Giuseppe mused. "I'm surprised it took him this long." Across the table from him, Ginny slid her chair back and stood. "Tesoro?"

"I'm not losing him again," she informed her husband, a fiery look in her eye very similar to the one Damon had flashed minutes ago. "I just got him back. Barely." With that, she turned to leave the room.

"Tesoro, we can't go after him tonight," Giuseppe said, standing as well. He knew his son. Damon was too much like him. He needed space tonight. He had asked for space and they did, indeed, owe him that. Tomorrow, they would start the long and slow process of trying to right their wrongs. "He needs time."

"I'm not losing him again," Ginny repeated. She glared at her husband, daring him to challenge her. When he didn't, she turned and left the room. Again, no one spoke, listening to Ginny as she walked through the house. To their surprise, she didn't leave. She made her way down the hallway, passing the library and Giuseppe's study. She opened the door to her small sewing room and shut it quietly behind her.

"What do we do now?" Stefan asked his father. He was at a loss. Giuseppe sighed, feeling older than he was. He removed his glasses and rubbed a hand across his face.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I don't know."

* * *

><p><strong>And there we have it. <strong>

**Fun fact - I originally had Damon figure it out while visiting the NICU. But, as tends to happen when I write, things took a direction of their own and Damon found out another way, a way I like much better. **

**And thank you, too, for reading my very long AN at the beginning. I really want to emphasize that I appreciate each and every one of you. I just ask that you be kind. There is already too much darkness in the world. Let's not bring it here, okay? Feel free, if you're ever curious about what I'm up to, to check out the link to my blog and social media that is within my profile. **

**Let me know what you think!**


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